


The Beginning of All Commotions

by katamarii



Series: Londinium [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Giripan Lovefest 2012, Hetalia Kink Meme, Humour, M/M, Organized Crime, Other, Sexual Content, Shounen Fights, Yakuza, meta references, this was an excuse to write yakuza!kiku
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katamarii/pseuds/katamarii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herakles Karpusi , heir to his father's shipping empire, finds himself caught in the middle of a gang-fight, only to be rescued by the yakuza-hitman, Kiku AKA the mysterious "Mister Fox". The two then team up to search for a missing heirloom. Hilarity ensues. Mafia-AU. Giripan, with mentions of other characters and implied pairings in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Measured](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/gifts).



> Posting up the earlier chapters of the Giripan Lovefest 2012 prompt. I picked the "yakuza!Japan / shipping-empire-heir!Greece" because it was **measuringlife** 's prompt, and I'd wanted to finally fill something for her, as a thank you of sorts for all the fics she's written for me. Much thanks and love also to my bro, **tinywhitekitty** for all the help and continual support you've given me during the writing/planning of this fic. And also for convincing me to go with writing a long fic with plot, as opposed to just shameless PWP xD
> 
> Music that inspired all of this: [**here**](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDHXZ4Fjqr8)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Herakles and Sadiq settle their differences with the only diplomatic method they know of, which is really a fist-fight.

~.*.~  
  
 ** _i.  
  
_**

  
 _February 14, 2kXX. 08:10 AM_  
  
  
He couldn't quite remember how he'd gotten himself into this situation.  
  
One moment it was all cars and high-speed chasing, and then Sadiq's obnoxious face was pushing its way into his line of view and–  
  
 _"Bet ya wouldna have the guts to break it, brat. Bet ya'll always be stuck toe-ing the line and kissing yer Daddy's arse 'till ya're a washed-up good-fer-nuthin."_  
  
To be quite frank, Herakles had never been very keen in business of any sorts, let alone in the shipping industry. So it was always to his utter distaste whenever Sadiq had the gall to insinuate that Herakles got a kick out of being a possible heir to his father's shipping empire – especially when he cared nothing of the sort. If anyone were to ask what he truly wanted to be in life, he would happily comply and say–  
  
"A vet."  
  
Sadiq made a sound that was halfway between a snort and a cough. "A _what?_ "  
  
"A vet. I'd very much prefer being a vet." Herakles repeated again, glancing down to where a tiny black and white kitten had taken to pouncing at his shoes, caught in a deadly battle with a stray shoelace.  
  
"It's not such a bad job, looking after animals and helping them get better." He reached over to pat ithe kitten softly over the head. "And I really like cats."  
  
Sadiq only rolled his eyes. "Ya kiddin' right? Stop tryin' pull my leg."  
  
"Kidding? No, no, I'm being totally honest – if you understood what that word even _means_. In fact..."  
  
Here, Herakles shifted his gaze and gave the other man a sneer – a small, contemptuous curl playing at the corner of his lips, but one which was not lacking in any derision for its receiver – before continuing, "Sometimes I wish I _was_ a cat. Then, I would spend the whole day pissing all over your smelly carpets and maybe just ripping up some upholstery, for good measure."  
  
" _Fuck_ ya!" Sadiq growled, a vein twitching at the side of his temple, "And leave my carpets out of this!"  
  
"No thanks," Herakles snarled back, "I do still have my standards, and _you_ didn't meet any of them."  
  
"And fuck yer stupid cats too, they leave fur all over the fuckin' place!"  
  
"So says the buffoon who sheds hair over the coffee table while attempting to sign business deals. Would you like an electric shaver for your _chest_ as a gift next time?"  
  
"Why ya cocky, little piece of _shit_ , just wait till I sock ya in the face."  
  
"Come at me then, stinky _bastard_."  
  
And so it was the day had begun with the usual arguments over nothing and everything, and before Herakles realised it, he and Sadiq had ended up wrestling each other from outside of Sadiq' fancy establishment ( _authentic Turkish carpets for all occasions all year round!_ ) all the way down to the back alley of Baker Street ( _three blocks down off Haggleton Avenue and a right turn just around the corner of Moriarty Florist & Gift Shoppe_).  
  
Things would have gone back to normal once the two eventually grew weary (or bored) of throwing punches at each other – they usually always did. Today was _not_ a normal day however, as Herakles and Sadiq made one of the biggest mistakes of their lives, and that was to run down the alley and right into the middle of a gang fight.  
  
It was only about to get much worse from here.

  
~.*.~


	2. Act 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sadiq is a lucky bastard and Herakles requires a bit of rescuing in the form of a mysterious stranger.

~.*.~

**_  
ii.  
  
  
_ **

_February 14, 2kXX. 09:32 AM_  
  
  
It was supposed to have been a relatively easy task. Yao's instructions were straightforward: Stay low and keep watch. If things get messy, go in and take everyone out. Kiku appreciated the simplicity of the plan, especially since his eldest cousin was sometimes prone to much melodrama ( _which was quite unnecessary, if Kiku was allowed to be truly honest about it_ ). And while he usually meant well, Kiku couldn't help but feel somewhat _exhausted_ trying to keep up with Yao's antics at times, and wished that his cousin would go about conducting his businesses with a better sense of calm and propriety.  
  
A muffled yell, followed by several gunshots drew Kiku from his musings and back to the present. He shifted slightly, peering over the building from where he'd been standing for the past hour. There was a flurry of movements in the alley just below him, as the gathering of men – clad in black and grey and shaded glasses – scattered themselves now into groups two or three, throwing punches and kicking out at each other. Four of them had their guns drawn, and were firing shots at the fighting mob; bullets, which had missed flesh and fabric, ricocheted off the walls.  
  
Kiku frowned, not taking his eyes off the tall blonde man he'd been observing diligently for the past hour.  
  
He watched, crouching silently.  
  
He waited–  
  
–and then, gripping his sword tightly, he leapt down from the building and into the fray.

  
*

  
Herakles heard a loud, satisfying crack when his knuckles met the side of Sadiq's jaw. He would have taken the time to savour the moment, and maybe even throw a few more insults at the other man. But his feet didn't quite move quickly enough; Sadiq made sure to stamp on his toes. _Hard._  
  
Herakles hissed in anger, dodging another punch, before he caught sight of blurred shadows from his side-view and felt a strange sense of uneasiness in his gut...  
  
He stopped midway in his tracks, his arm still held out as he finally became aware of his surroundings, and of how they had somehow managed to run smack into the middle of what looked to be two groups of men, all clad in dark suits and shades, and poised to attack.  
  
"Hey, s'matter, brat? Finally lost ya balls, huh?" Sadiq began, before glancing about him, only to gape helplessly as realisation dawned upon his features as well.  
  
"Well–"  
  
" _–Shit._ "  
  
And it began raining bullets.  
  
" _Fuck!_ " Sadiq cursed as they both hit the ground, throwing themselves flat against the gravel in a desperate bid to avoid the bullets _zinging_ through the air where they stood just seconds ago.  
  
"Fuckity fuck fuck _fuck!_ " Sadiq swore loudly as he covered his face with his arms, shielding his eyes from the debris flying chaotically all around as the bullets tore through wood, fabric and cardboard boxes from a pile of trash by the side of the alley.  
  
Herakles had managed to crawl away of the direct line of fire, using the trash pile as cover from the unending torrent of white-hot lead and shells. He tried to call out to Sadiq, tried to get that _idiot_ to move his ass.  
  
A dark shadow fell over his line of vision. Herakles glanced up and–  
  
And suddenly, suddenly–  
  
– _a blur of black streaked with red and violet and_ –  
  
Another figure appeared, boots crunching against the gravel as he landed lightly before Herakles: his long black coat billowing in the wind; a sword held out in his right arm, red and violet silk cords casting shadowy trails.  
  
When the newcomer burst into the scene, there was momentary silence as every man paused in their tracks to fix their gazes upon him.  
  
Sadiq was lucky (or perhaps just really quick-minded and even more quick-footed). He saw an opening then, and took it.  
  
" _RAAAAAAHHH!_ "  
  
Before anyone could so much as blink, he grabbed the lid of the nearest trash can, and swinging it wildly before him like a madman, bulldozed his way through and out of the alley.  
  
Herakles was not as fortunate.  
  
 _Coward_ , he thought begrudgingly as he glared after Sadiq's retreating back, before the sounds of resuming gunfire wrested his attention back to more pressing matters at hand – his survival.  
  
The newcomer moved again as the mob surged forward, sunlight glinting off his blade as he twisted and twirled; a furious whirlwind lashing out at burly men two, no, three times his size. Herakles saw another flash, followed by an explosive _bang_ before he was coughing, choking.  
  
" _Move_."  
  
His eyes and nostrils still burning from the smoke and ash, Herakles only realised he was on the ground again when he heard the soft, urgent voice close beside him. He looked up and saw the newcomer to his left ( _dark hair and dark eyes; dark like a raven's wing_ ) – he'd pushed Herakles out of harm's way during the explosion.  
  
Before he could speak, there was another explosive flash, lightning-bright, and the man moved again, this time almost crouching over Herakles. He hissed, flinching as if in pain. Herakles thought he saw streaks of crimson stain the ground beside them, but he couldn't be sure.  
  
As he tried to stand, Herakles' fingers found their way around something cool and smooth to touch – a clear bottle filled with a thick black emulsion. Without hesitation, he grabbed the bottle, thrusting it into a nearby fire and lighting the cloth-wick attached to it.  
  
He flung the bottle towards the mob–  
  
–a third explosion rocked through the alley, debris and shrapnel soaring through the air.  
  
When their vision was finally cleared of acrid smoke and choking vapours, the fighting mob could see neither Herakles nor the strange man with the sword.

 

~.*.~


	3. Act 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Herakles offers his assistance and Kiku ends up a little flustered. Awkwardness ensues.

~.*.~  
  
 ** _iii.  
_**

  
 _February 14, 2kXX. 10:43 AM_  
  
  
"You'll need to get someone to look at your arm and shoulder." Herakles said as he followed after his unexpected saviour, jogging to keep up with the other man's quickening steps.  
  
"It's not serious," came the soft reply. The man did not pause to look at him.  
  
"You're still bleeding."  
  
"Please do not worry. It's just a flesh wound."  
  
"Well… at least let me wrap it up for you." Herakles said, persistent. Why he'd said it, he wasn't quite sure, especially since he knew nothing of this strange man. But he'd seen the flicker of discomfort crossing the man's face more than once, and that was enough.  
  
"Please. I owe you my life."  
  
At his words, the man faltered in his tracks, glancing back at Herakles. His gaze was tinged with doubt; after a long, tentative silence, he nodded.

  
*

  
"Forgive my intrusion, but I can't help but wonder… what business did you have with the Lafayettes?"  
  
From the way Kiku was watching him, it was clear to Herakles that the man didn't think he would fit in at all with… well, whatever it was that the Lafayettes made it their business.  
  
 _Or Kiku's._  
  
They had found an old, abandoned workshop nestled in the slums of Old Nichol. Here, in a decrepit old room hidden from prying eyes and ears, Kiku had allowed Herakles to help dress his wounds.  
  
"None whatsoever," Herakles replied, cleaning away the blood and grime as much as he could with his kerchief. Kiku had been right. There was no trace of foreign objects embedded in the wound; it looked simply to be a graze from either a stray bullet or shrapnel. He was lucky.  
  
"Sadiq and I got into an argument with each other. By the time we'd noticed where we were, the mob started firing at us." His gaze still trained on the back of Kiku's exposed left shoulder, Herakles resisted the urge to gently stroke at the trail of small teal butterflies imprinted against pale skin.  
  
 _Yakuza?_ The thought had crossed his mind when Herakles first laid eyes upon the tattoo, but even he had enough sense to refrain from voicing the question. Still, he wondered about this strange man, who had offered only a single name when asked.  
  
"If it wasn't for your appearance, I'm sure I would be lying dead in the streets by now," Herakles continued. He raised his eyes from the tattoo to meet Kiku's impassive gaze. "Thank you."  
  
"It was not truly my intent to rescue you," Kiku admitted, his tone low. "I only noticed you were not part of the group I had been observing. In that sense, I merely reacted out of instinct."  
  
"Is it instinctive of you to aid strangers from certain death?" Herakles ventured carefully. He could feel Kiku shifting slightly in his seat, but the man held Herakles' gaze steadily.  
  
"But you're no stranger, are you Mister Karpusi?" Kiku finally said, a slight edge now present in his otherwise calm voice. "Even if you are one but many, you are still an heir to Romulus' empire. And my cousin is particular about keeping his business associates safe _and_ alive, if possible."  
  
Herakles could only blink, slightly taken aback at the use of his father's name. And then, he gave a short, breathy laugh, his previous suspicions more or less confirmed.  
  
"Who are you searching for?" Herakles asked, slowly ripping up a separate piece of kerchief into thinner strips of cloth.  
  
"A family heirloom, actually. We have a number of probable suspects, the Lafayettes being one of them." Kiku winced, feeling the wound sting. "Though I suppose if they were firing bullets at each other, it seems like they already have their own domestic issues to concern themselves with..."  
  
Herakles continued to dab the wash cloth, washing the wound as gently as he could, before he said, "Let me help you."  
  
Kiku's eyes widened in mild surprise. "What?"  
  
"Let me help you search for the heirloom." Herakles repeated.  
  
"I can't possibly allow that. It's too dangerous."  
  
"I promise I won't run blindly into a fighting mob again."  
  
"That isn't exactly what I meant, Mister Karpusi."  
  
"You can't do this alone, not with your arm like this."  
  
Kiku released tired sigh, lowering his gaze to ground, before allowing the tiniest of smiles to paint his features. "You are a persistent man, Mister Karpusi."  
  
Herakles only gave him a nonchalant smile. "Sometimes, when I set my mind to it."  
  
In all truthfulness, Herakles himself wasn't quite sure _why_ he was so insistent in offering his help, especially when he was now painfully aware of the nature of Kiku's work. There was no guarantee that Kiku would find his stubborn persistence nothing more than mere annoyance; a small obstacle in his quest to finish his job.  
  
There was also no guarantee in the slightest that Kiku would not turn on Herakles and drive his sword through his gut, there and then.  
  
Even so, Herakles found himself somewhat intrigued and drawn to this man. It was stupid, he knew, and he was probably pushing his luck ( _not that he'd ever thought he had much luck to begin with before_ ), but then again, how often could Herakles say he'd done something entirely different in his mundane, carefree life of heir to one of the world's biggest shipping company? Of something out of the ordinary, other than attending countless business meetings and client proposals?  
  
Perhaps it was for this every reason Herakles would find himself engaging in the occasional fist-fight with Sadiq ( _although, really, those were entirely the ugly bastard's fault, for always imposing himself on Herakles, and subsequently triggering a violent reaction from him_ ). Herakles was mostly lazy by nature, that much was true, but even he wasn't spared from bouts of boredom, and there were days he would seek out something new, something different.  
  
"How about a compromise then?" Herakles offered, licking his lips tentatively. Kiku turned to meet his gaze once more, eyebrows raised questioningly.  
  
"I'll help you to look for the heirloom, but anytime you feel it's too dangerous for me to continue on with you, I'll leave right away and you don't even have to protect me."  
  
When Kiku only frowned doubtfully at the suggestion, Herakles tried again, quickly adding, "Call it a business associate keeping his honour and repaying you for saving his life, in whatever way he can."  
  
A soft laugh, and then–  
  
"All right, I will concede, as long as you follow my instructions." Kiku's lips remained quirked at the corners, even as a flicker of pain crossed his features at the sting of his wounds.  
  
Herakles nodded in agreement, feeling decidedly pleased with himself.  
  
The low hum of music accompanied by a faint, singing voice emanating indiscernibly from the building next to the workshop they hid themselves in filled the short lull in their conversation. Herakles thought the melody had a tinge of familiarity to it.  
  
"Why were you arguing with Mister Sadiq?" Kiku asked, breaking the silence between them.  
  
"Oh… well," Herakles raised one arm to rub at his nape, before giving Kiku a sheepish grin. "You could say that we've always been rivals of sorts. That greasy bastard deserves to be punched though, he's always the one causing all the trouble."  
  
Herakles frowned, his expression turning grim now, just from recalling the incident. "We were arguing because it turned out that he bought the exact same box of chocolates as I did, and for the same lady too."  
  
"Ah, a love triangle. That must have been difficult indeed."  
  
"That slimeball probably doesn't even like her. He's just jealous."  
  
Kiku chuckled softly again, glancing over Herakles. "You must be quite the ladies' man."  
  
"Nah," Herakles said, shaking his head slowly. "I mean, sure, those girls were all pretty and nice, but I think most of them just wanted company."  
  
He paused as he finished cleaning the wound, and began wrapping the ripped pieces of cloth around Kiku's arm and shoulder. "Sometimes they want sex too, and I don't really mind it if that's what they wish to do. And I enjoy sex, so it's nice to... are you blushing?"  
  
Kiku cleared his throat lightly. "Not exactly."  
  
Even though the lights in the room were dim, Herakles could see that the other man's cheeks were unmistakably pink now. Kiku politely averted his gaze, choosing instead to study the grey and mouldy drapes over the window.  
  
"I am just unused to hearing such... ah, intimate subjects being discussed so publicly out in the open," he offered by way of explanation, his expression as impassive as before.  
  
Herakles cocked his head sideways, silent, as he finished tying the knots of the makeshift bandage. He frowned, brows knitted tightly together as though he was carefully considering his next sentence.  
  
"Are you a virgin?"  
  
"I... No, I am _not_." Kiku replied flatly, before he blanched, realising he might have revealed too much.  
  
Herakles couldn't suppress the soft laugh from escaping his lips this time.  
  
"You're cute," he said simply, green eyes glowing with mirth. "If we'd met under different circumstances, I might not hesitate to ask you out."  
  
"I'm afraid I don't quite fit into your definition of a 'pretty lady'." Kiku remarked dryly, even as his features were still traced with the slightest hint of a blush.  
  
"That's fine," Herakles said, grinning languidly like a cat drowsy from finishing a bowl of cream, "I like men too."

 

~.*.~


	4. Act 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which messages are revealed during a visit to the bar and discussions get a little side-tracked.

~.*.~

  
**_iv._ **

**_  
_ **

  
_February 14, 2kXX. 12:05 PM_  
  
  
The day began, as always, with her favourite tune playing from the old radio nestled in an abandoned corner of a wall-mounted shelf, home now to dust balls and hidden-from-view spiders' nests. It had been chilly earlier in the morning, the draught creeping in from underneath the door and snaking through a tiny gap in the window – Francis must have forgotten to check they were properly closed before going home last night.  
  
Sunlight filtered through red-and-yellow patchwork drapes now, casting fuzzy fractals on linoleum tiles, as morning gradually eased into noon.  
  
And like always, she hummed ( _it had always been Mother's favourite song_ ) as she worked, dusting the cabinet shelves first, before turning to attack those stubborn stains on the counter with her trusty cleaning cloth. The stains blended into the dark wood of the counter too easily, putting up a tough fight against her via camouflage ( _but not to worry, she also had her other cleaning side-kick at hand_ , Super Dish Disinfectant Spray – _she'd take them out before anyone could cry "Yahztee!"_ )  
  
There was an abrupt creak ( _those hinges need to be oiled_ ), followed by the jangle of bells as the front door swung open, and then there was fast-approaching footsteps and–  
  
"I'm sorry, we're not open for the day yet." Angeline said, without looking up. "Business only begins at a quarter past two."  
  
Sometimes, like today, she would get people entering a tad bit too early ( _you'd think they would at least take a glance at sign on the door, stating very clearly, their operating hours_ ). But she was, as always, the ever gracious bartender, so she remained courteous still.  
  
"Apologies for the intrusion. We're not here for the usual, however…"  
  
 _Unlike_   always, that was one voice Angeline hadn't expected to hear.  
  
She straightened her glasses, and turned to acknowledge the slender-built man who had just entered through the front door.  
  
"Hello Mister Fox. What a …. surprise to see you here."  
  
Angeline would have added "nice" to the "surprise", she really would. After all, Mister Fox wasn't _un_ -nice. Neither was he particularly bad-looking ( _not quite her type though_ ). Whenever he showed up in her bar, he was always polite and apologetic, and his visits were generally short, even if he was never upfront about what he needed.  
  
But still, she could not bring herself to describe his visits as "nice". Not when she knew the kind of business Mister Fox was usually involved in.  
  
Then again, it was almost similar to the kind of business _she_ was involved in. For while Angeline Hippolyte Grimaldi was the proud owner of _Moon and Sixpence_ by night, she too was one of Londinium's best information broker, also by night ( _and sometimes by day, for mysterious fellows like Mister Fox, who are often on irregular schedules_ ). And for her to able to obtain certain information, Angeline herself had to be "not-very-nice", or even "not-nice-at-all".  
  
You just couldn't be _too_ nice if you wanted to stay in this business for long.  
  
The man gave her a short bow. "You look well, Miss Angeline. I hope things have been good for you?"  
  
"We've been doing pretty all right the last two months." Angeline said, putting away her cleaning spray and cloth below the counter, before she reached for a bottle of Scotch from the cabinet behind her. She poured a glass and offered it to the man, who accepted it with another gracious dip of his head and a soft _thank you_.  
  
"There were a couple of bulls that came in few nights ago though. Said they were looking for a doll with gimp, and wondered if she'd ever visited." She reached for a deck of playing cards from a drawer, shuffling the cards loosely in her hands before squaring the deck once more.  
  
"Apparently she's been missing for a week, and the poor bird's husband's a wreck now. And apparently, ever since she's gone missing, the number of alley brawls on this side seems to have increased."  
  
Cutting the deck in half, she set aside the first stack on the counter before shuffling the second stack again, her fingers guiding each packet down one after another upon her palm.  
  
 _Shuffle, shuffle, square._  
  
 _Repeat_.  
  
The man watched her, sipping at his drink silently, before he finally said, "I've noticed the increase in brawls as well, the most recent one being among the Lafayettes themselves. I have to wonder though, if it was more than say, domestic difficulties among their ranks…"  
  
A pause.  
  
Angeline began laying out the cards across the counter, carefully placing them in a neat row. She let her hand hover over the cards, as if deciding on something, before she reached and turned over a card to reveal a Five of Diamonds.  
  
"It does seem a little suspicious, doesn't it? But as we both know, Mister Fox, when there are monetary transactions involved–"  
  
She turned the second card over ( _Five of Clubs_ ).  
  
"–even simple matters can get out of hand pretty fast."  
  
The man gave her a wry smile. "Indeed."  
  
"That said, what of you, if I may inquire? I hope business is blooming for your cousin."  
  
Another sip, and then a quick brush of a gloved hand over a silk shirt.  
  
"Things have been fairly well. We've made no real losses. There is however, the slight problem of a missing item, one of which my cousin is quite fond of."  
  
"How unfortunate…" Angeline frowned as she crinkled her nose, but never took her gaze off the cards. She continued shuffling the cards each time before laying out a new row.  
  
She turned the next two cards face-up ( _Nine and Ten of Diamonds_ ).  
  
"Word has it that the Väinämöinens have been bustling about excitably." she continued.  
  
"It wouldn't matter much if it was just the Dane alone."  
  
"The Dane? You mean Mister…?"  
  
"Mister _Suck-My-Dick_ Kohler? Yes, that fellow."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"A handsome, charming brute. Needs to work on his language, though. Anyway, I looked into it and it seems it wasn't just him making all the noise and fuss. It was the whole family in fact, but I checked and it seems like they do have a legitimate reason."  
  
Angeline flipped the next third and fourth card over ( _King and Queen of Hearts_ ). As she did so, she couldn't quite hold back the smile and the accompanying chuckle.  
  
"Looks like Berwald finally proposed."  
  
"That's good news indeed," the man agreed, beaming slightly. "I will remind my cousin to send his regards."  
  
"Anyway, the Väinämöinens are accounted for. I can't say the same for the Braginskies though."  
  
There was a tiny cough, and then a slight _thunk_ as the man set his glass down on the counter with a little more force than Angeline was used to seeing.  
  
"The Braginskies are accounted for as well."  
  
Angeline only raised an eyebrow, uncertain if she wanted to hear the explanation. Not that she'd expected him to offer any.  
  
"It's not exactly my place to say it now, but I ah, assure you they are in the clear." He said.  
  
She shrugged, but decided not to push the question further and turned back to shuffling her cards again, and to continue with laying out new rows.  
  
"So the Braginskies are out, and that leaves–"  
  
 _Miau!_  
  
Caught by surprise, Angeline blinked several times, wondering if she'd just imagine the sou–  
  
 _Miaaaau!!_  
  
Very well, so she _didn't_ imagine it. The man gave her an apologetic look when she met his gaze, but when he said nothing, she glanced past his shoulder and only then did she realise there was _another_ man in the bar with them.  
  
She must have missed him earlier, though how she'd done so, she wasn't quite sure, since this man was much taller than Mister Fox and more broad-shouldered. The dark suit he wore hid most of his muscular physique, but Angeline guessed that he could hurt someone if he really wanted to, even if it was a little difficult to imagine him wanting to hurt anyone right this moment.  
  
Not when he was in the middle of prying an angry cat off one of the wall-mounted shelves with one hand _and_ trying to keep a picture from falling off the wall with another.  
  
"Oh, uh… sorry," the man who Angeline didn't recognise said, his arms now full of Monet and vicious , feline fury. "She was just outside the bar, and I didn't notice she had followed us in as well. Also, I didn't mean to interrupt your discussion with Ki…uh, I mean, with Mister Fox."  
  
The cat bristled, growling under her breath. He continued to stroke her gently behind her ears and after several flicks of the tail, she stopped, and began licking at one white paw instead.  
  
Angeline could only stare wordlessly at both man and cat, before she straightened her glasses once more. "If she rips up the upholstery, I'm afraid I would have to charge you, Mister…?"  
  
"Herakles. Just 'Herakles' is fine," the man said, giving her a sheepish grin. "I'll keep her away from the furniture, don't worry."  
  
There were several minutes of silent awkwardness, as Angeline said nothing, scrutinizing Herakles with a slight frown, as if she were assessing the truth of his words in keeping the cat from vandalizing her bar.  
  
"I didn't know your cousin hired someone new," she finally said, turning back to the man sitting at the counter, riffling through her cards.  
  
"My cousin did not hire him," he replied simply, his gaze still fixed on his glass. "He is just… ah, returning a favour."  
  
Another pause.  
  
 _Shuffle, shuffle, square._  
  
"So you finally got laid, Mister Fox. Congratulations."  
  
A stifled cough.  
  
"He's been laid before," Herakles added helpfully, as the cat purred from his arms.  
  
A _louder_ cough this time. "I really do not see how my preference in bedding positions fits into this discussion."  
  
Angeline's lips tugged upwards humorously. "I never brought _that_ up, my good sir. You did."  
  
Mister Fox stared at his glass, seeming to have decided that, at this point, it was truly _fascinating._  
  
"Do you have a favourite spot?" Herakles asked, a faraway look within his green eyes, as if he'd reached an epiphany after a moment of quiet contemplation.  
  
"I-I beg your pardon?"  
  
"On the bed. Do you have a favourite sleeping spot?"  
  
"Oh," Mister Fox flushed slightly. "Well, ahh…"  
  
Angeline cleared her throat noticeably. "Gentlemen, please. I understand the amorous possibilities that may have occurred between you, but really, if you're going into details here, I would appreciate it if you just leave me to my daily duties. I am a little behind time as it is."  
  
"Sorry," Herakles said. The cat in his arms only sniffed in disdain.  
  
"I apologise for the distraction," Mister Fox said, contrite. "Please do continue."  
  
The smirk still playing around the corner of her lips, Angeline finished laying out all the cards in the final row.  
  
"Two have already been accounted for," she began, as she flipped one card over.  
  
 _Two of Clubs._  
  
"So that leaves us with…" She flipped the second and last card over.  
  
 _Knave of Spades._  
  
A pause.  
  
"I see." Mister Fox finally said, and lifted the glass to his lips, finishing the last of his drink. He stood up then, dipping his head politely. "Thank you for your time and assistance, Miss Grimaldi. The check will be sent over within a week, as per the usual."  
  
"It's always a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Fox." Angeline smiled, gathering the cards back slowly and stacking them back into a neat deck.  
  
Glancing over at Herakles and the cat, she couldn't quite help but add, "Looking at you, I wouldn't have thought you preferred men instead."  
  
"I actually like both men and women," Herakles said, unfazed. "Both is good."  
  
Angeline didn't think she'd ever seen Mister Fox so flushed before, let alone having another expression other than his default pokerface. She chuckled again, good-naturedly.  
  
"Have a good day, gentlemen. Be safe."  
  
She put away her deck of cards, and reaching out for her cleaning things, resumed back to her usual schedule. When she glanced up once more from the counter, the two men were nowhere in sight – almost as if they had never been within the vicinity of the bar at all.  
  
Angeline hummed softly to herself, turning her attention back to that ugly stain she'd just caught a glance of ( _the third table from the right side of the wall, possibly more than a day old and possibly remnants of burnt ketchup_ ).  
  
And the day continued on, as always, with the news coming on the radio at precisely half-past-noon.

 

~.*.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Angeline Hippolyte Grimaldi = Monaco. ******  
> It was a little tricky trying to figure out her character, considering there isn’t much of her in canon strips. But from what I could glean off Himaruya’s comics, she’s a very intelligent young woman, who sometimes acts and speaks like an elder lady and she like discussing about things like politics, economy, etc. Hence why I thought she’d suit the role of information-broker pretty well. Also, this AU is set in modern times (in the 21st century), but Angeline occasionally speaks in a 1920s slang, because she has a thing for the twenties and all the jazz (this may or may not be an odd headcanon of sorts).
> 
>  **Mister Suck-My-Dick Kohler = Matthias Kohler = Denmark.** His nickname was inspired by [this fanart](http://29.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lruwrxOtee1r0iet2o1_500.jpg), lol
> 
> And just in case you’re wondering, Mister Fox is one of Kiku’s aliases he goes by when dealing with different people.
> 
> *
> 
> 1920’s slang speak:  
>  _bull_ – a policeman or law-enforcement official, including FBI  
>  _doll_ – an attractive woman  
>  _gimp_ – cripple; one who walks with a limp  
>  _bird_ – general term for a man or woman, sometimes meaning "odd”
> 
> Playing cards are often used in tarot readings, as each card (or combinations of cards) can represent several meanings. This can be used for delivering hidden messages.
> 
>  _Five of Diamonds_ – change of scenery, financial struggles  
>  _Five of Clubs_ – petty arguments  
>  _Nine and Ten of Diamonds_ – journey by sea  
>  _King and Queen of Hearts_ – possible wedding  
>  _Two of Clubs_ – intuition helps decisions  
>  _Knave of Spades_ – immature, cold, bossy, delinquent or gang leader
> 
> If you’re interested to read more card meanings, there's more information [here](http://www3.sympatico.ca/terrir/playing_card_meanings.html).


	5. Act 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino Vargas would like to say he may not be many things, but he is still fucking someon– some _thing_. And that is not a pun, dammit.

~.*.~

  
**_v.  
_ **

  
_February 14, 2kXX. 13:15 PM_  
  
  
Lovino Vargas was not many things.  
  
He was never the favourite student in school, never the teachers' pet and he never quite got along with most of the snot-faced, pretentious bastards while in college. Not that he'd wanted to or anything stupid like that. Even within his own family ( _and by 'family', he really meant the poor adoptive parents who'd taken him in from the orphanage_ ), he had never quite gained their favour as much as his younger brother Feliciano did.  
  
One couldn't entirely blame him though. It wasn't his fault that he wasn't sweet and cheery and all sunshine-y inside like Feliciano was. It wasn't his fault that while both brothers were clumsy and as useful as a sack of rotting potatoes chucked in a forgotten corner in the garden shed, Lovino was usually the one who lost his temper first. It wasn't even his fault that he was very apt at being fluent in all manner of cuss words by the age of ten, and that he didn't hesitate to use it as an expression of self during school counselling meets.  
  
Lovino Vargas was not many things, but he _was_ something; the founder and self-appointed gang leader of the Dollars, to be exact. And that was something he was proud of, thank you very much.  
  
Even if the Dollars hardly ever did anything useful ( _except, maybe to pelt poor Mister Tibbles the postman with pebbles, or to decorate the walls of St. Mary's Nursery with graffiti penises_ ).  
  
Even if the Dollars only consisted of three other members.  
  
Antonio Fernández Carriedo was one tough stalker-bastard who had insisted on sticking to Lovino like chewing gum stuck on hair. Belle van Nassau simply thought Lovino was cute ( _and who was he to say 'no' to a pretty lady who appreciated his obvious good-looks and his sizzling hot charm?_ ), while her brother Willem… uh, well, Tulip-Head was kind of creepy-imposing but the more the merrier, right? Besides, Willem looked like he could seriously beat the shit out of anyone, and that was always a good thing.  
  
Antonio liked to call them the Happy Tomato Amigos, to throw anyone off their tracks of being Super-Suspicious!!( _the bastard had even painted their delivery van full of bright red tomatoes_ ).  
  
Lovino didn't even understand _why_ they had to be the Happy Tomato Amigos, especially when they certainly had nothing to do with tomatoes ( _except eating them of course, but did he even have to fucking state the obvious?_ )  
  
No, tomatoes weren't part of their business – they owned a bakery down Islington Lane, and Lovino and Antonio's specialty were cannoli and muffins – but there was no point reasoning with Antonio about these things, because reasoning with Antonio was like doing the salsa with a Spanish bull. Which is to say, it was almost impossible.  
  
Lovino Vargas was not many things, but he was content.  
  
He was especially content today, even with the sweltering weather, which was enough to make him all grouchy and irritable.  
  
It was, however, also making him feel ridiculously aroused… although that was probably more due to the fact that Antonio ( _who-wasn't-reeeeaally-just-a-friend-so-much-as-he-was-a-fuck-buddy-also-maybe-possible-lover-but-whatever!_ ) had a really sexy ass, and that Lovino had been quite attracted to Antonio for a while now. He couldn't quite bear to say it aloud yet, because doing so would mean he might actually be interested in ~~cocks~~ men and that there was a possibility he could be _gay_ gay, and not just simply _~experimenting~_.  
  
Antonio's face was still as stupid as fuck though.  
  
But damn if his cock wasn't so hard right now...  
  
He felt Antonio arching his back, nudging his ass closer and grinding against Lovino's groin, eliciting a growl of pleasure from him with the touch.  
  
"Oh Romano," Antonio breathed.  
  
Lovino felt his jaw twitch at the stupid nickname Antonio insisted on using ( _which part of him smelt like cheese, huh?!_ )  
  
"Romano… aah! I want you… deep inside me…"  
  
Lovino only grunted thickly, moving faster as he continued licking and sucking at delicious, sweaty flesh.  
  
" _Yes_ , deep… _mmhhpph..!_   S-so deep… like a well…"  
  
"Will you just _stop_ talking." Lovino hissed, nipping into Antonio's neck.  
  
It wasn't that Lovino mind talking during sex so much ( _he would never ever, ever admit this aloud but he'd always thought it was kindasortasexynowshutup whenever Antonio murmured those cheesy, romantic phrases into his ear_ ). It was just that Antonio always had the tendency to spout dumb, boner-killer lines amidst their throes of passion like–  
  
"Romano, you're so hard, _cuchifritín_ … Hard like a diamond meat torpedo, _oohh!_ "  
  
God.  
  
Fucking.  
  
 _Dammit_.  
  
"Shut up, Antonio." Lovino snarled angrily, biting at the other man's shoulder a second time.  
  
"Sorry, sorry!" Antonio chuckled, before the laughter broke off into a strangled gasp when Lovino thrust into him again; faster, harder this time.  
  
Lovino would have probably said more, would have probably bitten Antonio again but Antonio was moaning, and there was heat and sweat and oh God, Antonio was fucking _tight_ and–  
  
And there was a cat sitting at the edge of their bed, licking its paw nonchalantly as it stared at them, judgment within its bright, amber eyes.  
  
" _Mother_ fuck–!"Lovino yelled as he leapt away from Antonio, before rolling off the bed in shock and landing with a loud _thump!_ on the floor. He blinked several times before his mind began to register the pain in his head and his ass.  
  
"Romano! Are you all right?" Antonio was beside him in a flash, reaching out towards him.  
  
Lovino only groaned, shaking himself before he took hold of Antonio's arm to sit himself up.  
  
"How the hell did the cat get in?" Lovino began, glaring up at the bed at the offending creature again. Except this time, the cat was no longer on the bed and was instead in what looked like a pair of hands holding it up. And those hands seemed to be attached to the arms of a tall, broad-shouldered man, who was now standing at the foot of the bed.  
  
"Uh, hi." The man smiled sheepishly at them.  
  
Lovino gaped.  
  
"Oh, hello." Antonio said cheerily, waving.  
  
Lovino yelled. Again. And scrambled back to his feet, one hand already rummaging through the bedside drawer, reaching for his gun.  
  
" _Who the fuck are you?!_ " he demanded as he whipped his arm forwards, brandishing a box of condoms threateningly at the strange man before him–  
  
Wait.  
  
What?  
  
"Antonio, what did I tell you about messing with _my_ things whenever you're at _my_ place?"  
  
"Aha, sorry Romano! I just couldn't fit everything into that drawer when we got back from the grocer's. That's a really big box of condoms, you know."  
  
"That's not the problem here!"  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
Lovino jumped, startled by the new voice. He swung around hastily to point the box at the second man who had been standing close behind him. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears, anticipation coiling within the pits of his belly as he readied himself for a possible fight.  
  
Given a choice, Lovino would have sprinted away as fast as his legs could take him, he really would. The only reason why he'd decided to keep a gun in his bedside drawer was as a precaution, a _just in case_ … not that there were many times he actually had to _use_ it. He mostly drew his gun against any would-be opponent as a deterrent of sorts; more of a HAHA-Fuck-You-I-Have-A-Gun-And-I'm-NOT- Afraid-To-Bust- A-Cap-In-Your-Ass, before turning to bolt off to safety during Assassin XYZ's moment of hesitation.  
  
This method didn't work quite as well with a box of condoms though, he figured.  
  
"I'm sorry to be bothering you and your… friend, Mister Vargas," the man continued, his tone still soft and perfectly even, a serene expression in his gaze – one that Lovino happened to be quite familiar with.  
  
"Dammit Kiku," Lovino sighed, dropping his arms to his side as he shook his head. "Stop appearing out of nowhere. I could have blown your face off."  
  
"Forgive me. I must express my relief then, at your choice of weapon." Even as Kiku bowed in a polite show of apology, there was the faintest trace of a smile at the corner of his lips.  
  
Lovino recalled that the box of condoms was still in his hand, and snorting in disgust, threw it carelessly back into the bedside drawer.  
  
"You're lucky today." He settled back onto the bed, ruffling a hand through messy, brown hair as he felt the warmth of Antonio's body against his back when the other man sat down beside him.  
  
"Why are you here anyway? And who's Mister Pussycat?" He gestured towards the taller man, who was now holding out the cat towards Antonio so that he could pat it ( _oh for fuck's sake_ ).  
  
"His name is Herakles," Kiku said. "He's assisting me with a few things."  
  
"Hello, Herakles!" Antonio said cheerily, still patting the cat on the head with one hand, while shaking Herakles' hand with the other. "I'm Antonio, and this is Lovino and we–"  
  
Lovino elbowed him sharply in the ribs.  
  
"Yao has lost one of his favourite pieces. An important heirloom, to be precise." Kiku began, lifting one hand to smooth down the front of his coat, even though there was hardly any crease or wrinkle on it. "We've had a couple of leads on who might have possession of it now, so…"  
  
"And you think that _I_  stole your cousin's precious toy?" Lovino huffed.  
  
"I wouldn't go so far as to pin such an accusation on you, Mister Vargas."  
  
That deceptively calm gaze again, and the tiniest of smiles tugging at those lips – it had never failed to unnerve him a little, even if Lovino had known Kiku for nearly two years now.  
  
Their chance meeting happened out of sheer luck. Kiku had run crashing into him one day, trying to outrun what looked to be a group of men on a steroid boost and hell-bent on tearing him to pieces, much like a pack of crazed hyenas.  
  
Lovino would have stayed out of it, he really would ( _he never claimed to be a Saint after all, even if he did try to say the rosary every week… okay, fine, every month, shut up_ ). But Antonio, Belle and Willem had been there as well, so when one of the men had oh-so-stupidly flicked Willem's pipe out of his hands, Lovino almost felt sorry the poor fool.  
  
Because _no one_ flicked Willem van Nassau's pipe from his hands.  
  
 **No. One.**  
  
Not God, Not Antonio, not Lovino, not… well, Belle would have gotten away with it, simply because she was _Belle_. But no one else would have, and certainly not those stinky, hyena-buffoons. Between Kiku, Willem and Antonio ( _Lovino remembered to shield Belle from any immediate harm because, hey somebody had to do it right?_ ), they made short work of the group. Willem was even happy to finish it off by tossing Mister Flick-Away-My-Pipe-Will-You over the bridge and into the cold, murky river.  
  
And so, somehow through that incident, Kiku and Lovino and the rest of the Happy Tomatoes became "friends". Or business associates. Or something. Lovino didn't care so much about shit like terminology. Whatever they were, he was aware that it was best to have Kiku as a friend than otherwise.  
  
"Admittedly however, I _am_ here because I was told that I may find some answers." Kiku continued, holding Lovino's steady gaze.  
  
"Ugh, we've been through this before, Kiku." Lovino sighed, carding his fingers through his hair again as he frowned. "You already know how I feel about crap like authority, let alone all these organised crime bullshit. I mean, seriously, fuck the police! And fuck the mafia too!" Except that he said the second line in a softer, more wary voice, giving Kiku a slightly apologetic glance. "Present company excluded, of course. But well, you know how much I hate messing with stuff that like, so why the hell would I want to spend time around them anyway?"  
  
"And yet you lead your own gang, the Dollars," Kiku countered evenly, still in that deceptively calm tone, still holding Lovino's gaze.  
  
Lovino shook his head stubbornly. "Well, how do you know it's not the Braginskies or any of the other families, huh? _Huh?!_ "  
  
"I don't mean any offense Mister Vargas, but I assure you that I've checked. The Väinämöinens are out of town and will be so for the next couple of weeks. Whereas for Mister Braginski himself…." Kiku paused, a sudden pained look flickering across his features. "Well, we are quite certain it wasn't him, _especially_ since he and my cousin were too busy negotiating themselves over the dining table right about the time the heirloom was stolen."  
  
Lovino snorted in disbelief. "Are you seriously trying to say– "  
  
Kiku's deadpanned expression told him that _yes_ , he _was_ quite serious.  
  
To which Antonio let out a loud guffaw. "Wow, that must have been a really long meeting, if they had to fit themselves into the agenda!"  
  
Lovino smacked Antonio hard on the shoulder.  
  
"Huh. I see." He let out a tired groan, reaching for the pack of Lucky Strikes and the lighter from the bedside table.    
  
Beside him, Antonio only kicked off the blanket as he stretched his arms over his head.  
  
"I'll go pour our guests some wine, okay, Romano? They look really thirsty!" he said, unperturbed by the fact he was more or less naked in front of two complete strangers, and made his way out of the room towards the kitchen.  
  
Kiku seemed to have noticed both Lovino and Antonio's stark nakedness by now, and clearing his throat lightly, averted his gaze towards the window instead. He kept his back to Lovino, unspeaking, as if he were giving Lovino a moment to light his cigarette and to consider his next choice of words carefully.  
  
Lovino inhaled deeply, watching the tiny cherry-flame flare to life at the end of the stick, the frown still etched stubbornly upon his brow.  
  
"All right, fine," he finally said, releasing a steady stream of smoke and ash with each breath. "There _was_ someone who came by just yesterday. Tried really hard to convince us to buy it off him."  
  
Antonio reappeared again from the kitchen, still very cheery, still very naked, as he offered a glass of wine first to Herakles (who had made himself comfortable sitting in one of the sofa chairs, the cat now curled up in slumber upon his lap). He passed the second glass to Kiku, who, after nodding a quick thanks to the man, continued to keep his gaze to the window.  
  
As Antonio settled himself next to Lovino again, he asked, "Why doesn't your friend want to look at us, Romano?"  
  
"Because you have a stupid face, that's why." Lovino said, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Because you're both still naked and I think he's a little self-conscious about that." Herakles offered instead, from where he was seated.  
  
Kiku only sipped at his wine in awkward silence, cheeks a little flushed.  
  
"Anyway," Lovino continued, "he tried to get us to buy it, but I said no, because dammit, did really he think I was that stupid to want to buy such a thing and then get into trouble for that?"  
  
"Do you know who he is, the one who tried to sell you what I presume is Yao's?" Kiku said, finally turning his head to glance back at Lovino.  
  
This time, Lovino couldn't help but meet Kiku's gaze with his own smirk and a soft chuckle. "Oh I know him all right. In fact, _you_ know him as well, and I'd even say that you know him a whole lot better than I ever will."  
  
When Kiku only frowned at his words, confusion clearly etched upon his features, Lovino laughed again.  
  
"You know how they always tell us to keep our friends close, and our foes even closer?" Here, Lovino took another drag from his stick, wisps of smoke and ash trailing from his nose and lips as he exhaled slowly. "In your case Kiku, I guess it's not hard for you to do so, since this particular 'foe' is already part of your own…"  
  
Kiku stared unblinking at Lovino for several heartbeats, his expression betraying nothing. His dark eyes told a different story however, and Lovino could see the realisation gradually reflected in them.  
  
"Thank you for your help, Mister Vargas." Kiku said as he bowed, and turned on his heel to make his way towards the door. Just as he set the glass down on a nearby table, Herakles stood from the sofa and followed after him, the cat in one arm as he waved farewell with the other.  
  
"Sure is an interesting guy, isn't he Romano?" Antonio said, watching as the two men left the house, before he brought the wine bottle to his lips to take a long swig.  
  
Lovino only made a noncommittal grunt at the back of his throat. He reached over to the bedside table to put out the cigarette, and then lay back down against the bed again, running a lazy gaze over Antonio's figure next to him.    
  
After all that commotion and all the talking, he was slowly being made aware of his arousal (again) as he studied the definition in Antonio's back, at the muscles and at curve of his spine and… _goddamit._  
  
Closing the gap between them, Lovino pinned Antonio back against the bed. He trailed a moist tongue over Antonio's earlobe, feeling the blood rushing to his ear (and rushing down _elsewhere_ ), feeling  the heat rise in him when the other man gave a small, involuntary shiver under his touch.  
  
"Now, where were we?"  
  
Lovino Vargas was not many things–  
  
"Oh Romano, you're such a teaaa... _a-ahh!_ "  
  
–but right now, he was going butt-fuck the living daylights out of Antonio, and no one could tell him to do otherwise.

 

~.*.~


	6. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That which he fears in dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music which inspired the interlude/dream sequence: [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8t6wAHFMxzU)
> 
> Wong Kha Loung (“Loung”) = Hong Kong

~.*.~  
  


**_–interlude–  
_ **

  
_It’s only a quarter past nine in the morning, but already he can feel the blaze of the sun through his shirt. His skin prickles from the heat, sweat trickling from his nape and down his back.  
  
“Don’t slouch like that, Loung. Your grip’s too slack.”  
  
A careless yawn, and then a boy speaks, youthful insolence barely suppressed in his tone, “This is so boring. Can I like, leave now?”  
  
“No! We’ve only just started the training. And Kiku, relax a little, you’re too stiff.”  
  
He starts a little when addressed, and then inclines his head into a short bow. “Ah. I’m sorry, Yao.”  
  
“Aiyah Kiku, you don’t apologise to your opponents! Courtesy counts for nothing on the battlefield!”  
  
“A-ah..,” he says again, biting back the apology before it escapes from his lips the second time. It’s a habit like that, or maybe just a personality quirk of sorts – to apologise, to constantly be polite.  
  
From the left corner of the garden, somewhere in between the shrubs of hydrangeas and peonies, comes a soft chirping sound – a cricket or two, singing out their eagerness for courtship.  
  
He continues to listen to the cricket song, even as he keeps his eyes trained on Loung. He watches as the boy readies himself, holding up his sparring stick. He mirrors the boy, falling into a defensive stance.  
  
There is a gentle breeze that circles lazily around the garden, weaving in between the shrubbery and the leaves of the old willow tree, before slipping in to ruffle their hair.  
  
Yao is calling out instructions, but he is too focused and absorbed, his gaze still fixed on Loung as the boy begins to move; a crouching tiger in search of an opening.  
  
The willow branches flick about in the wind, leaves rustling noisily–  
  
And Loung lunges forward, lightning-fast.  
  
He dodges as Loung swings the stick in a wide arc towards him, avoiding the blow. As he does so, Loung moves again, whirling around and striking out at his other side. He side-steps, bringing up his own stick to parry the blow just in the nick of time.  
  
“Don’t dawdle Loung, you know you’re faster than that!”  
  
Between the two, Loung has always been more agile, his strikes falling like a torrential storm. He is aware of this, right after their very first sparring session together – the bruises he bore on his skin lasted for weeks, and the one on his pride never quite went away.  
  
He twists and turns, deftly avoiding the raining blows as much as he can. Waiting, watching for an opening; a slip of the hand, a miscalculated step. Loung picks up the pace, moving faster now and he feels a sharp stinging sensation as the stick grazes his shoulder.  
  
“Come on now Kiku, you’re leaving yourself wide open like that!”  
  
He winces, biting back a hiss of pain, but he holds his ground, blocking each strike as they fall even as Yao continues to bark instructions at them.  
  
Watching, waiting; a fox with a trick up his sleeve and waiting to pounce on unsuspecting mice–  
  
As Loung reaches out to strike again, he lunges forward, ducking neatly under Loung’s outstretched arm. Pivoting on his heels, he twirls the stick in his hand and drives the end right into the boy’s solar plexus.  
  
Loung coughs, stopping midway and he ends the fight easily by knocking the boy off his feet.  
  
He pants heavily, wiping away the sweat from his brow.  
  
“Excellent move, Kiku, you’re perfecting it very well now.” Yao whoops ecstatically from the side and he wonders for a moment if his cousin will embrace him in a victorious, smothering hug as he is apt to do.  
  
“Thank you, Yao. I learnt from the best…”_

_“Hey, hey Kiku! Bet you can’t avoid this one though, nyahahaha!”  
  
Before he can move, he feels a pair of arms curling around him in a rough embrace and headlock, squeezing the breath out of him. He sighs, before he elbows the newcomer not-too-politely in the ribs and pries himself free from the death-grip.  
  
“I am quite certain there are other preferable ways to challenge someone else to a duel,” he begins, his patience already starting to wear thin as he turns to face the newcomer–  
  
Only to see nothing but a dark, empty hallway stretched out behind him.  
  
“Yong Soo…?”  
  
The light disappears rapidly, the voices of his cousins fading, crumbling like ashes in the wind.  
  
He stares, a sudden chill creeping up his spine, the cold fear wringing around his heart and  
  
– suddenly, suddenly, there are bodies lying over his feet; twisted, bleeding.  
  
– his hands run red, and he drops his stick, cringing–  
  
“No… Loung… Yao!”  
  
He looks up to see the black barrel of a gun pointed right at his face and–_   
  
**BANG.**

 

~.*.~


	7. Act 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Herakles learns that perhaps he and Kiku are more alike than not.

~.*.~  
  
 ** _vi.  
_**

  
_February 14, 2kXX. 14:39 PM_  
  
  
“Kiku?”  
  
Herakles glanced hesitantly over the man seated next to him, concern pooling within his green eyes. Kiku blinked, and while his expression was as characteristically stoic as before, Herakles could see the disquiet in the other man’s eyes, could hear the slight sharpness in his breathing.  
  
A soft jingle came on the loudspeakers overhead, announcing the name of the station the train had arrived at. There was a shuffling of feet and murmuring of voices as several passengers squeezed through the crowd to exit the train.  
  
“Are you all right?” Herakles asked, once the doors had slid close and the train jerked, moving forward again.  
  
“Yes,” Kiku said, sweeping the fringe back from his eyes, before bringing his hands back to clasp around the hilt of his sword. “I’m sorry to cause you any worry. I was… just recalling a few things”  
  
“It seemed more like you were having a nightmare.”  
  
Kiku’s lips quirked at Herakles’ words. He bowed his head lower, before admitting in a softer tone, “They weren’t exactly good memories, no.”  
  
“Do you already know who the culprit is? The one who stole the heirloom?” Herakles asked, even if he was unsure whether to voice the question.  
  
He’d already suspected that Kiku knew exactly who to search for after their meeting with Lovino, that the culprit seemed very likely to be someone from within Kiku’s own associates ( _family?_ ).  
  
But who was he to pry further into such things? He’d figured that even within the yakuza – just like within any organization, legal or otherwise – they had their own domestic grievances, maybe even their own black sheep of sorts. Kiku’s initial reaction to Lovino’s words certainly gave the impression of such.  
  
Herakles himself didn’t have any siblings, at least none that he personally knew of. His father, Romulus, was known for having many women (there were rumours too, of other men, and some say, possibly even a _goat_ ) in his life. Most were brief affairs; mere playthings, objects of his licentious desires. Few won his genuine affection and fewer still, his respect and admiration.  
  
Herakles’ mother, with her wit and her strength of will, was all of these to Romulus. But while she loved the man, she cared nothing for his empire, and much less for his glamorous lifestyle. A spirited, independent woman, she had wanted only to continue with her work as an artist and sculptor, to raise her son in the quiet, little shop she owned outside the bustling city mess of Londinium.  
  
She was also sickly, and died just as Herakles turned eleven, leaving her son to fend for himself until Romulus took him under his wing.

Herakles shook his head – now wasn’t quite the time to concern himself with painful memories. Then, as an afterthought, he supposed maybe he shouldn’t have brought up the question of the heirloom again and was about to apologise when Kiku spoke again, and said softly, “We’re not actually related.”  
  
When Herakles raised an eyebrow questioningly, Kiku continued on, “My father had known Yao’s family for a long time, so Yao was kind enough to take me in as a child…”  
  
He paused, before he lifted his gaze again to meet Herakles’, disquiet still in those dark eyes.  
  
In the last few encounters they’ve had, first with Miss Grimaldi in the bar, and then with Lovino and Antonio, Herakles had already noticed that being naturally reticent in temperament, Kiku preferred not to make eye-contact as much as he preferred not to have his personal space encroached upon.  
  
So when Kiku didn’t look away this time, he guessed the other man could probably sense and read the curiosity in his eyes, and was prompting him to voice the question on his mind.  
  
“Did… something happen to your parents?” Herakles asked tentatively.  
  
Kiku watched him silently for a little longer, before he finally averted his gaze to look out the window again.  
  
“They were gunned down. My father was the _wakagashira_ to one of _Y_ -gumi’s top family-bosses; his trusted right-hand man and personal bodyguard. Some were not entirely pleased with the _oyabun_ ’s decision in choosing my father for the role, so they hired a rival clan to take him out.”  
  
Herakles said nothing, keeping his gaze trained before him.  
  
“At any other time, my father would never have fallen to such lowly fighters,” Kiku continued, and from his side view, Herakles could see the other man’s fingers clenching slightly over the handle of his sword. “But he was trying to protect us, my mother and I…”  
  
Kiku paused once more, shaking his head as if to dispel the ugly thoughts. “Ah, forgive my impudence. I had not meant to ramble off like that.”  
  
“No, it’s fine, really,” Herakles said, turning to glance back at his companion. “I’m sorry to hear about your family.”  
  
Kiku offered a wane smile at that. “It’s an unfortunate reality for a life such as ours. An occupational hazard, if you will.”  
  
He raised his head to study the map plastered unto the wall before him, and Herakles wondered if he was silently counting the number of stops before they reached their destination.  
  
“To answer your first question,” Kiku said, not taking his eyes off the map, “I will not say I’m completely certain, but I do have a good guess as to who it may be.”  
  
And despite himself, he could only let out a resigned sigh, his brows knitted into a tired frown.  
  
Herakles wasn’t quite sure what to make this, but it did seem like Kiku was… dreading (?) to meet whoever it was they were going to see next. He studied the seriousness etched upon Kiku’s face, pondering quietly.  
  
“Chocolate?”  
  
“Huh?”

There was a soft crinkling of plastic, and Herakles picked out a piece of chocolate from the small, slightly squashed package on his lap, holding it towards Kiku.  
  
“Would you like some chocolate?” Herakles asked again, as if offering chocolates in the middle of a conversation was something he did every day. “I just remembered they’d been in my coat pocket since this morning. They’re a little soft though – I may or may not have sat on them by accident earlier.”  
  
Kiku stared at him, unblinking, gazing from Herakles to the chocolate in his hand, and back to Herakles once more.  
  
“Ah well, I don’t think that– e-ehh..?”  
  
He never quite got to finish his sentence, because Herakles decided then to gently press the chocolate to Kiku’s half-parted lips. It had melted a little and was squishy to touch, but otherwise still sweet to taste.  
  
Kiku froze momentarily in shock. But there was a sliver of chocolate drizzle, hanging precariously on the tips of Herakles’ fingers, and in danger of dripping down and staining the front of Kiku’s shirt. Herakles knew that Kiku probably knew that too, but neither of them moved nor said anything for five whole seconds.  
  
Then, as colour began to rise to his cheeks, Kiku finally caved and dipped his head slightly, finishing the piece of chocolate straight off from Herakles’ fingers.  
  
“You are a very strange man, Mister Karpusi.” He chided lightly when he finally drew back from Herakles’ outstretched arm. He wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, before carefully straightening the front of his shirt, his face set into a somewhat neutral expression, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.  
  
Herakles only smiled nonchalantly, licking off the last bits of chocolate drizzle from his fingers. “That would make the two of us then, Mister Fox.”

 

~.*.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _wakagashira_ – first lieutenant  
>  _oyabun_ – family boss
> 
> * 
> 
> The yakuza adopts the traditional Japanese hierarchical structure of _oyabun-kobun_ (lit. foster parent–foster child), where the _kobun_ swears complete allegiance to the _oyabun_. [Yakuza hierarchy chart](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Yakuza_hierarchy.png)
> 
> It’s a very complex organisational structure, where the overall boss, the _kumicho_ , heads the syndicate with several advisors and bosses directly beneath him. The Wiki entry provides a more in-depth explanation if you’re interested: [here ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yakuza)
> 
> _Y_ -gumi – an allusion to the actual [Yamaguchi-gumi](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yamaguchi-gumi), the largest and most infamous yakuza organisation in Japan.


	8. Act 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which family grievances arise, bromance occurs and Yong Soo is _still_ not very sorry... sorry, sorry, sorry.

~.*.~ ** __**

**_vii._ **   
  
  


_February 14, 2kXX. 15:03 PM_   
  
  


“ _‘Look, look, look at those two couples passing by…’_ ”  
  
Step, tap, step, tap–  
  
“ _‘I can love like that too but!’_ ”  
  
Step, tap, step, tap–  
  
“ _‘Wooooooo ooh ooh~’_ ”  
  
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, clap–  
  
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle  
  
–freeze!  
  
“ _‘I am so lonely!’_ ”  
  
The youth parading down the sidewalk didn’t quite notice the amount of stares the passers-by were throwing in his direction. Or rather, he _did_ notice the stares, but he didn’t mind it much, not when he could revel in the attention coming his way. He’d always enjoyed being in the limelight, and it was hardly any different now.  
  
Some of the passers-by looked on in great amusement, while others wore the most quizzical looks upon their faces. A group of school girls, dressed in grey shirts and blue plaid skirts, chuckled among themselves and pointed discreetly when he skipped past them, singing out as he did so.  
  
Yong Soo couldn’t exactly hear what they were saying, of course – he had his bright, blue and red headphones clamped over his ears, and the music was blasting so loudly that even the stray mongrel sniffing at the corner of the street perked its ears up and glanced towards his direction.  
  
But all of these things didn’t matter to Yong Soo, not when he was busy perfecting his best moves and keeping the groove. So he continued singing and dancing along the curb, kicking up a medley of dried leaves and litter in the wake of his shuffling feet, almost as if he were fleshing out his own personal MTV with each move.  
  
“ _‘Me too, lovey dovey dovey uh uh uh uh!’_ ”  
  
Shuffle, shuffle, slide  
  
“ _‘Lovey dovey dovey uh uh uh uh!’_ ”  
  
Shuffle, shuffle, slide  
  
“ _‘Don’t leave me alone now…’_ ”  
  
Yong Soo whirled around on his heels, before coming to a stop when he faced the school girls, winking mischievously at them. As they tittered and squealed among themselves in mock bashfulness, he wiggled his hips, stretching out one arm to mimic shooting an imaginary pistol at them. That set off another bout of giggling from the girls.  
  
“ _‘Lovey dovey dovey uh uh uh uh!’_ ”  
  
Step-forward, step-back  
  
“ _‘I will definitely find you, I’m melting, dying!’_ ”  
  
Shuffle, shuffle slide  
  
Twirl, twirl, twirl–  
  
“ _‘Where exactly are yo–’_ ”  
  
And he came to an abrupt halt just as he finished his spin, right before another man.  
  
He very nearly cried out in surprise; he hadn’t noticed there was anyone standing so close to him. He might have apologised for having nearly bumped into the stranger, and then continued on with his singing and dancing, but he caught the other man’s gaze and unfortunately for him, he _recognised_ that gaze.  
  
This time, he __did__ yell out (almost like a girl, except not really) as he leapt back from the man, arms flailing about before him in dramatic shock.  
  
“Kiku!” Yong Soo said, once he’d recovered enough from his initial consternation, and pulled off the headphones from over his ears. “A-Ahahaha, hey fancy bumping into _you_ here, cousin!”  
  
Kiku didn’t blink, frowning ever-so-slightly as he lifted a hand to adjust the silk tie around his collar. “Hello, Yong Soo,” he said simply, keeping his gaze levelled with Yong Soo’s. “I believe we need to talk.”  
  
“Talk?” Yong Soo squeaked, sweeping his gaze wildly about, as if in a bid to avoid eye contact of any sort. “O-oh well see, I’m _kind_ of running late, so I don’t think I can do talks right now, yeah? Maybe I’ll see you around when I get home. Like uh, in a week or never, haha. So well, um, bye!”  
  
He spun around again, trying to make a dash for it, only to run crashing into _another_ man who had been standing a little way off behind him – a man much taller and bulkier than Kiku, who had eyes as green as the sea and a mop of thick, wavy hair the colour of chestnuts.  
  
“Ow, ow, owww!” Yong Soo wailed, rubbing at his face and his nose, which had gotten a little squashed from his head-on collision with the man’s brick-wall of abs.

“Oh, sorry about that,” the taller man said, leaning forward a little to check if Yong Soo was all right.  
  
“The sooner you tell me what I need to know, the less tiresome this will be for either of us.” Kiku spoke again, moving to close the gap between them.  
  
“Whatever it is that you think I did,” Yong Soo blurted out, “I didn’t do it, okay? So there, hah!”  
  
Kiku only raised an eyebrow. “And that is usually what a person guilty of misconduct might say…”  
  
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about! You can’t prove anything either!”  
  
“You are assuming that I’m already accusing you of something.”  
  
“Well, you are! You’re always accusing me of things, and it’s not fair because Yao _always_ takes your side.”  
  
Kiku frowned harder, momentarily closing his eyes. “That is only because I spoke nothing but the truth then and you were being irresponsible – much like how you are being irresponsible now.”  
  
There it was again, Kiku and his talk of responsibilities. Yong Soo could never get about the guy, he was always so uptight about every little thing, down to the very last detail. Maybe it had something to do with them not being actually related – if Yong Soo were to be blunt about it, Kiku was nothing like the rest of the family in temperament and disposition. Heck, even _Yao_ had more of a sense of humour, and that, in itself, was saying a lot.  
  
“Oh come on, not _that_ again,” Yong Soo said, grimacing. “Man, you really need to learn to chill out. You’re always acting like an aged man, but you aren’t even that old!”  
  
“And you never seem to grow up at all.” Kiku retorted.  
  
“Hey! At least I’m taller than you, so _I_ still win.” Yong Soo smacked a hand victoriously over Kiku’s head, as if to further prove his point and to emphasize their difference in height to the world. “Nyaahaha!”  
  
Kiku sighed tiredly once, before he shifted his left arm and then–  
  
“–ahahahaha… **_ack!_** ”  
  
Yong Soo coughed, staggering backwards from a short, sharp blow to his middle when Kiku casually, but firmly drove the pommel of his sword hilt against his sternum.  
  
“Ow, ow, _owwww!!_ ”  
  
“I suggest that you own up to your mistakes now,” Kiku’s voice was still soft, still calm, but the edges were beginning to crystallise with the slightest hint of vexation, “and perhaps Yao will be kind to you this time.”  
  
Ugh, that was the other problem with Kiku. Not only was he always behaving like an old stick-in-the-mud, but he was constantly threatening Yong Soo with one thing or another. Yong Soo honestly felt that the guy just needed to get laid and–  
  
Kiku jabbed him a second time.  
  
“OW!” Yong Soo yelped, raising his palms outward in a show of defeat. “Okay, okay, _fine_. Stop poking me already.”  
  
“Will you return heirloom now, before you land yourself into further trouble?” Kiku asked, as he re-adjusted his sword back at his belt once more. Yong Soo knew it wasn’t so much a request as it was an order, and well, that was going to be a bit of a problem at the moment.  
  
“Uh, weeeell,” he swallowed uneasily, scuffing the ground with his shoe. “See, about that... There was a, er, let’s call it an ‘incident’ of sorts, shall we? And uh, as luck would have it, it occurred _just_ before you two arrived! What a coincidence, huh?”  
  
“....”  
  
"So like, I met the most _beautiful_ lady ever to walk upon this town, and her eyes were like the stars sparkling in the heavens, and her hair like silken locks of silk!"  
  
"...I see.”

“She was so enthralled by my good-looks, she was completely all over me. I tried to stop her of course, but she said I was terribly irresistible! And that I was tranquil as a forest, but a **_fire_** within.” Yong Soo let out an appreciative sigh, just from recalling the words, and though he couldn’t help but puff out his chest proudly, he was still modest enough to allow a slight blush to colour his cheeks.  
  
From the corner of his eyes, Yong Soo could see Kiku exchanging confused glances with the taller man, but he continued on. "And there was a look of distress in her eyes that I couldn't ignore! Because how can a man ignore the tears of a maiden?”  
  
He lifted one hand upwards to the sky, fingers curled into his palm in a show of resolve and determination. “A man must be courageous; swift and with the strength of a raging fire, but still mysterious like the dark side of the moon! And above all, a man must be chivalrous, even when chivalry is dead! So I revived her belief in chivalry once more and did the rightful thing!"  
  
Kiku felt the side of his jaw twitch. "You gave it to her."  
  
"Out of the gesture of my own goodwill!” Yong Soo exclaimed. “Kiku, dude, you're my cousin and I really love ya, but you should seriously go out more. Self-pleasure and imaginary digital intercourse can only go so far in the climax department, ya know?"  
  
Oh yeah, he went _there_. On hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best thing to be saying. It was one of his funnier quips, and Yong Soo prided himself on possessing both swag _and_ wit, but insinuating his cousin’s lack of bedroom antics out in the open like that? Probably not the best thing to be doing.  
  
But Yong Soo being _Yong Soo_ , had never been one for tact, let alone consideration – at least, not when dealing with Kiku. And so he continued hopping and skipping about, chortling loudly and being decidedly very pleased with himself, while Kiku tried his best to maintain relatively composed, even as he was clenching his fist in an attempt to restrain himself from reaching for his sword again.  
  
“Sup guys, what’s with all the commotion?”  
  
Uh-oh.  
  
Yong Soo froze mid-step through a prance and a skip at the sound of a new voice. At about the same time, he saw Kiku’s fingers faltering just before the hilt of his sword, brows furrowed slightly. Further off behind Kiku, the tall man who Yong Soo had smashed his head into earlier stood up straighter; his initial laidback demeanour now replaced with something a little more alert and hostile, green eyes narrowed as he gazed at the approaching figure.  
  
“Everything all right over here?” the newcomer chirped again. There was an air of cheeriness to the voice, but even underneath that all that, Yong Soo didn’t miss the confident and authoritative tone – a police officer?  
  
Yong Soo’s face split into a wide grin as he was immediately struck by a new idea.  
  
“MISTER POLICE OFFICE, SIR!” he cried out sharply when he heard the sound of boots crunching against the gravel. He wheeled frantically around, arms outstretched, to face the newcomer. “MISTER OFFICE, SIR! PLEASE HELP? THIS MAN HARASS ME MUCHLY, AND MAKE I AFRAID. I NO UNDERSTAND RANGUAGE WELL. PLEASE HELP!!”  
  
Only to have said police officer gape at him for five whole seconds, before throwing his head back into a hearty guffaw.  
  
Yong Soo’s face fell, dejected, when he finally saw who it was. “Oh, it’s _you_. Ah well, so much for trying my luck, eh?”  
  
“Sorry to spoil your fun, Soo, but it’s kinda hard to pretend I don’t already know you.” The man clicked his tongue, winking at Yong Soo. “Besides, if someone is ‘harassing’ you, that usually means you’re the trouble-maker. Also, what the heck is ‘ranguage’ suppose to mean? Is that like, Asian for English or something?”

A tall, bespectacled young man wearing a boyish grin stood before the trio, one hand placed at his hip, while the other held up Super-Sized cup of soda. His short, blonde hair stuck up at the back, as if he’d had a habit of crossing his hands behind his head while leaning back into his chair, and there was just a touch of earnestness in his bright, sky-blue eyes. Pinned on the front of his navy-blue uniform was a silver tag with “A. F. JONES” emblazoned over it in bold, black letters.  
  
“Officer Jones,” Kiku began, dipping his head in a short bow. “Apologies for causing such trouble – my cousin isn’t always quick enough to realise what a handful he is, despite his liveliness.”  
  
“Duuuude, how many times have I told you? You can drop the ‘Officer’ crap.” The man chuckled lightly as he gave Kiku’s shoulder a soft punch. “We’ve agreed on this before. Between us, we’re just ‘Alfred’ and ‘Kiku’, right buddy?”  
  
“A-ah, you’re right. My apologies for that, Mister Alfred.”  
  
“Pffft! Geez, Kiku, you haven’t changed much, have you?” Alfred gave another uproarious laugh, ruffling Kiku’s hair good-naturedly. “Still polite to a fault!”  
  
Kiku gave Alfred a wry smile, before politely side-stepping a little, just in case Alfred decided it was a good time to headlock him into one of his signature bone-crushing hugs. He glanced over at the tags and badges adorned over Alfred’s shoulders. “I see you’ve been promoted. Congratulations.”  
  
Alfred’s grin grew wider, the glow in his eyes brighter. “The promotion came in two weeks ago, right about after we managed to round up that drug ring over at Mackellan’s.”  
  
He paused for a moment, before leaning towards Kiku again, slinging an arm over the other man’s shoulders and pulling him closer so that he could whisper conspiratorially into his ear, “That information-broker lady friend of yours? She knows _everything_. Like seriously, fucking _everything_. Don’t think we could have managed it without her help.”  
  
“Miss Grimaldi is very resourceful.” Kiku agreed, squirming out of Alfred’s hold.  
  
“Damn straight she is.” And as if he’d just recalled why he was there in the first place, Alfred straightened up, glancing past Kiku and over at Yong Soo, who was now trying to show the tall, broad-shouldered man what seemed to be dance moves.  
  
“Who’s the Big Guy? And what’s going on between you and Soo? A couple of school girls got all worried about the yelling and thought I should take a look.”  
  
“His name is Herakles; he’s helping me out with a few things.” Kiku said, frowning slightly as Yong Soo attempted a shuffle move and a twirl – left foot, right foot, tap and twirl – while Herakles only continued to watch on somewhat curiously.  
  
“Hercules, huh.”  
  
“It’s ‘Herakles’,” the tall man called over from where he stood. “I’m Grecian. ‘Hercules’ is the Roman version.”  
  
“Herakles, Hercules… they are all Greek to me, Big Guy.” Alfred said, chuckling at his own joke, before rummaging through his pockets to pull out a handful of candies wrapped in colourful plastic wrappers. “Anyway, I take it that Soo’s done something really messed up again?”  
  
“You’ve become more observant over years too, Mister Alfred.” Kiku said, lips curved upwards into the tiniest of smiles. He accepted one of the candies Alfred offered to him. “Unfortunately, it seems that Yong Soo has, against his better judgement, given away the very thing we’ve been searching for.”  
  
“Oh yeah. That was really pretty girl, though – I can’t say I blame the guy for crumbling under her spell. I mean, I might have done the same, ya know! Haha!”  
  
Kiku blinked, halting in the midst of opening the plastic wrapper. “You know who she is?”  
  
Alfred popped a couple of candies into his mouth. “Yeah! I was patrolling by New Piccadilly Café when I saw Soo talking to this lady sitting by herself. I would assume whatever it is you and Herc are looking for, she’d be the one to have it right now.”

“I see.” Kiku said simply. Then, once he’d finished his piece of candy, he glanced over at Herakles, giving him a nod. Turning back, he gave Alfred another quick, short bow. “Excuse us, Mister Alfred, but we’ll have to leave right away. Your help is greatly appreciated however, and I’ll be sure to thank you properly the next time.”  
  
Alfred only gave a short laugh, thumping Kiku over his back. “Dude, Kiku, come on. I’ve said it before; you don’t have to be all serious business around me all the time, especially when there ain’t no other cops around.”  
  
He held out his right arm towards Kiku then, fingers curled into a fist. “You and me, bros for life, yeah?”  
  
Kiku allowed himself a soft chuckle this time, and holding out his arm forwards, lightly tapped the front of his fist against Alfred’s. “Yes. Thank you.”  
  
Once Kiku and Herakles bade their goodbyes and began making their way down the street, Alfred finally turned his attention back to Yong Soo, who had his music blasting again from the headphones dangling around his neck.  
  
The two caught each others’ glances, sizing each other up, and then–  
  
“You know that dance you showed me the other day?” Alfred asked, waggling his eyebrow mischievously at the youth.  
  
“The one you got served with?” Yong Soo countered, lips curled into a smug, sidelong grin.  
  
Alfred narrowed his eyes. “Better watch your words, kid. You might just regret it and be the one–”  
  
And just like that, Officer Alfred F. Jones broke into a dance, sliding and shuffling his feet, popping and waving his arms around. “–to be singing _SORRY, SORRY, SORRY, SORRY!_ ”  
  
“Oooooh!” Yong Soo shrieked in mock horror. “This is _on_.”  
  
And with that, he proceeded to whip out his own best moves. No way was he going to lose to someone who thought _ranguage_ was actually a word.

  
*

“I have to say, you're acquainted with the most intriguing of characters.” Herakles said, looking back over his shoulder at the two figures skipping and swaying about animatedly in the middle of the sidewalk. “Not to mention a really interesting cousin.”  
  
“I would like to remind you, Mister Karpusi,” Kiku coughed lightly, keeping his gaze firmly on the road before them, “that I am adopted.”

 

~.*.~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been a little sick the last couple of weeks, so if this act seems to have more crack than the previous ones, well, I suppose that may or may not have been the result of my slight fever. Er.
> 
> The first song YongSoo was dancing and singing to is T-ARA’s _[Lovey Dovey](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ELl3OhrvTk)_. And yes, Yong Soo and Alfred decided to have dance-off in the end, to Super Junior’s _[SORRY, SORRY](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4okKSigjyc4)_.
> 
> Also, I didn’t quite manage to slip it in, but Alfred and Kiku used to be roommates back when the two were in college. They’ve been BFF-bros since that time, and continue to be good friends, despite the nature of their jobs. 
> 
> I hope you’ll enjoy reading this ♥


	9. Act 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a girl seeks the extraordinary in the ordinary (you only live once, so why not?)

~.*.~  
 ** _  
viii.  
  
_**

_February 14, 2kXX. 16:33 PM_

  
Elizabeta Héderváry valued her days off. Things tend to get really hectic when you happen to be a young, ambitious and attractive lady, but especially more so when you’re working towards graduating with a mass communications degree. Actually, thinking about thatnow made her chuckle a little, and that she did; a quiet, almost-nostalgic kind of laugh, as she swirled her drink with the miniature pink umbrella stick. Mid-way through her second year in Human Resource Management, she had made a conscious decision to switch courses, when she’d discovered – while sneaking appreciative glances at two men intensely eye-fucking each other across the table in the library – that her real calling in life was _not_ to plough through stacks of remuneration packages, but in journalism.

Particularlyin photo-journalism ( _moonlight illuminated their passionate throes oh-so-well_ ).

She had always enjoyed studying the raw details; the littlest things that made an otherwise ordinary daily life occurrence more than just _mundane_ , more than just _routine._ She liked to keep the “daily” in many, if not all, of her photos but there was always a spark, a bit of _spunk_ if you will, in her shots.

There was still a lot she had to learn about the finer aspects of photography and capturing the right moment, but she prided herself on her current portfolio, especially when compared to the type of shoddy work a certain snotty-faced Gilbert Beilschemidt came up with. Liza took a longer sip at her drink, a vein twitching ever-so-slightly at her temple, brows furrowed in distaste at the very thought of her arch-rival.

Everyone thought Gilbert was charming, and that his stories were nothing short of _awesome_ , but Liza knew better than most – countless of slant and angling in his reporting, coupled with sensational headlines, no doubt tweaked and stolen off Tumblrmemes. Why was he always talking about missing airports on his Tumblr anyway? Her dashboard had been clogged with stupid airport gifs for _weeks_ now and she still didn’t get it. And god, don’t even mention the blinking, sparkle text he abuses in his weekly e-blog updates ( _The Very Secret But Still Awesome Blog of the Last Descendent of the Teutonic Knights_ ).

“Miss Héderváry?”

At the sound of the voice, Liza shifted in her seat.

 _So he finally decided to make his move huh_ , she thought _._ She supposed it was better than having a stranger watch you from across the street continuously like a massive creeper, or like a Russian spy. If he _was_ a creeper, she’d have a good excuse to perfect that new mixed-martial art move she had been practising over the weekend. If he was the latter… well, maybe she’d have an interesting story to blog about when she got home that night.

“That depends on who’s asking,” she began carefully, only to be faced with what looked to be the built torso of a man dressed in a light-blue shirt, framed by a slightly-wrinkled dark coat. She trailed her gaze upwards to meet the eyes and the languid gaze of an attractive-looking man.

The man nodded slightly, offering a polite smile. “Sorry for disrupting your afternoon, Miss Héderváry. We’ve met before a few times, although I’m not sure if you remember those instances.”

Liza was about to call the guy out for attempting such a lousy pick-up line ( _though with the amount of bad lines she’d received recently, she almost preferred if he had gone all melodramatic instead and recited Edwardian poetry, with a blood-red rose grasped between his teeth, just for a change_ ). But she remembered then that the man had referred to her by name, and after another a minute or two of scrutinizing that handsome face, recognition dawned on her.

“Ah, Herakles,” Liza said, the frown she’d previously worn dissipating as her expression soften. “What a surprise! How have you been? I hope your father isn’t overworking you still.”

Herakles grinned. “I’ve been good, thank you. The pace has been much slower lately. So besides a couple of late-night parties with his friends, Dad hasn’t been getting himself into _too_ much trouble.”

“Not yet at least,” Liza said, lips curved into a smile to match Herakles’ grin. “A pity I couldn’t be around for those parties – I would loved to get some great shots of him outside of business shoots and work.” She paused, taking another sip of her drink, before continuing, “‘ _Daily Life with Romulus Vargas: Snapshots of Mediocrity._ ’ That’s what I would name the collection.”

“Not if he has anything to say about it. I think he’d prefer something more ‘exciting.’”

“ _‘The Vargas Adventures: Battles with Domesticity.’_ How about that then?”

“Hmm,” Herakles’ eyes narrowed to half-slits, pondering over her suggestion like how he would over the readings of _Kierkegaard._ _He was prone to doing that; thinking over the simplest matters for any sign of hidden profundities._

 __ _(_ _“Life must be understood backwards, but lived forwards,” he’d said to her once, in the middle of a press conference, where his father was giving a hearty speech to help promote an associate’s new line of men’s aftershave – “With Ye Olde Spice, your man can now smell like me, even though he isn’t me.”_

_Liza wasn’t quite sure what to make of it then. Come to think of it, she still wasn’t sure.)_

“I don’t know. Maybeif he’s allowed to pose as a gladiator in your shoot...” Herakles trailed off, doubt lacing his words.

“A professional photographer doesn’t question her subject’s idiosyncrasies when going about their daily life. In fact,” Liza’s hazel eyes brighten with a gleam of enthusiasm, “that might actually add to the offbeat theme of the shoot.”

Herakles gave a tiny snort of amusement at that. “I’ll be sure to mention that to him. If you’re lucky, he _might_ actually go along with it.”

“One mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.” Liza said, the smirk still playing around the corner of her lips. “That said, what brings you here, Herakles?”  She tilted her head sideways, glancing over him once more, as if she could ascertain his very purpose of being by the sheer power of scrutiny alone. She probably couldn’t, but she’d like to think she was good enough at picking up the subtleties. She enjoyed studying body language, after all.

“We believe you have in your possession something very important.”

Liza froze in her seat when she heard the second voice from behind her, goose bumps prickling down the back of her neck. She swivelled her head slowly to face the speaker.

A slim man sat in the chair directly across the table from her. Like Herakles, he too was dressed in a black suit. But where Herakles’ was rumpled and un-tucked, with an unbuttoned collar and a missing tie, this man’s was crisp and (mostly) wrinkle-free. And unlike Herakles’ easy-going and carefree demeanour – evident in the dishevelled mess of waves that was his hair, in the slouch of his shoulders, in the languid strides he took as he walked – this man was the very picture of elegance and propriety, with his short, black hair combed neatly into place, a sliver of sunlight glinting off the polished buttons and wrist-cuffs on his coat.

Save for a tiny, frayed tear at his left shoulder – and what seemed _suspiciously_ like a weapon hanging loosely at his side – he looked as if he had just walked straight out of a business meeting.

The man cleared his throat lightly, before placing both hands before him on the table. “My apologies, Miss Héderváry. I had not meant to startle you.”

“Apologies accepted,” Liza said, casually leaning back into her seat, letting her gaze flicker over the stranger, before she glanced back at Herakles. “I’m assuming that you are a friend of Herakles’…”

“Oh, er–” Herakles began, a hand scratching the side of his cheek, lips pulled into a sheepish grin.

“Yes,” the man spoke again, voice soft, dipping his head slightly as if in apology. “You may call me Mister Fox,” hekcontinued without missing a beat, “and forgive me for my forwardness, but I must request that you return immediately what my cou–ah, my associate had given away to you by mistake.”

“Oh,” Liza said, blinking uncertainly. “But I don’t think I know any of these _associates_ of yours.”

“Were you approached by a teenaged-boy earlier this afternoon?” Mister Fox asked.

Liza scrunched up her nose, frowning hard as she tried to recall all the people she’d met within the course of her day.

“A kid with brightly-coloured headphones?” Herakles prompted. “He’s pretty boisterous. Sometimes he breaks out into a funny sort of dance–”

“Oh!” Liza clapped her hands together, a familiar face finally springing to mind. “Yes, there was someone like that. He was a sweet boy. Rather charming too, I might add.”

Mister Fox’s expression didn’t change, but Li:a could’ve sworn that she saw a twitch just right below his eye.

“Yong Soo is ah, very lively. However, he gets ahead of himself at times, and that has, admittedly, brought on more grief than joy on many occasions.”

"I hate to be utterly frank but I really have no idea what you’re getting at, Mister Fox.” Liza grimaced, looking back at Herakles again, who was now occupying the other seat at their table.

“Well, it’s a long story, but basically, there was kind of a mix-up, and Ki–  I mean, Mister Fox’s friend got his instructions all wrong. In his over-enthusiasm, he gave away an important possession to someone else.” Herakles met her questioning gaze. “And that someone happens to be _you_ , Liza.”

Oh, so _that_ was it? Well then, Liza didn’t see why Mister Foxkhad to be so roundabout it in the first place. If he’d just gotten straight to the point, she would have understood right away. With him being all-sneaky-suspicious like that – not to mention how Herakles was _also_ being somewhat-sneaky-suspicious in similar fashion – Liza couldn’t help but feel a tad bit curious now.

“Liza?” Herakles said, leaning forward in his seat. “Do you have it?”

“Please Miss Héderváry,” Mister Fox said, a serious weight to his tone now. “It is important that we know.”

A tiny, tiny part of Liza considered pretending and telling a white lie. She figured it would be interesting to watch the men be utterly baffled and then slowly panicking if she told them _No, I’m sorry but the boy didn’t give me anything_. But her rational side cautioned her – _these men aren’t what they seem to be, Liza, don’t be stupid_ – and after a moment of silent deliberation, she reached over to rummage through her duffel bag.

She pulled out a medium-sized box made of polished mahogany and set it on the table before her. It was held shut with a silver clasp. An emblem was stamped on the cover; a blood-red swallowtail butterfly, framed by swirls of ivy and golden ginkgo leaves.

“It’s very cute and sweet,” Liza said as she casually flicked the clasp loose and opened the box. “But I don’t quite understand why anyone would go through so much trouble just to look for this, let alone to keep a plush toy in such an expensive-looking box.”

Mister Fox remained impassive, save for that tiny half-smile that he allowed to show through his mask. Herakles however, was unable to hide his curiosity as he leaned forward to take a closer look inside the box. Only to gape rather stupidly at what was unmistakably a small stuffed animal – a white cat, its mouth sewn into an odd, nihilistic smirk, dressed in a pink dress and with ribbon pinned to one ear.

“Is that…uh…” Herakles frowned uncertainly.

Mister Fox’s smile only grew a little wider, a gleam humour reflected in his dark eyes. “I assure you, we have our reasons, Miss Héderváry. Would you be so kind as to return it? It may not look much, but it’s not an item that should ever fall into civilian hands. I could never let a lady such as you come into harm because of it.”

 _I’m not a porcelain princess_ , Liza thought, irritably. Or apparently said aloud, because Mister Fox was dipping his head once more in apology, slightly taken back by her short outburst.

“I apologise for my careless words, Miss Héderváry. It was truly not my intention to come off as patronising.”

Liza closed the box, her face still turned in a slight scowl, her cheeks a little flushed. But ah, how could her maiden heart stay angry at Mister Fox when he had apologised so earnestly, unlike some men who would have probably just laughed and shrugged it off as her being a _sensitive little girl._

She let out a tiny sigh, offering the man a smile as a sign of her forgiveness. “I guess I should return it… but it _was_ given to me, so technically it belongs to me now, doesn’t it?”

“Well, technically yes, but Miss Héderváry–”

“And you wouldn’t possibly want to take it away by _force_ either, would you?”

“No, of course not. But Liza, I don’t think you understand–”

“But aahh! I wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway, so how about we make a deal?”

Mister Fox tilted his head sideways, considering her words. “Point taken. What do you have in mind?”

Liza reached for her bag again; this time, she held up a DSLR camera. “I have a big photography project due in two weeks, but I have yet to find any suitable subjects for an idea I’ve had in mind.”

She pointed the camera at Herakles, snapping a quick photo of him. “I’ll return the box, and in exchange, I’d like to ask both of you to be models for my photoshoot.”

 _Oh Liza, Liza, what_ **are** _you doing, playing mind games with men like these?_ she thought. Or what she thought her mother would say if she knew what her little Lizzy was up to.

Mister Fox exchanged awkward glances with Herakles. “A-ah, I suppose we could help…”

Liza pointed the lens at Mister Fox, snapping a second photo. “A nude photoshoot.”

Both men stared at her incredulously. 

Oh **_what_** was she doing indeed.

Herakles tapped the side of his cheek with a finger, nonplussed.  “Er… well, I guess I could do that. It’s not the first time I’ve been asked to model in the nude.” His lips quirked into a hesitant smile as he glanced over at his companion. “It’d be the first time I’ll be in the buff with another man though…”

Mister Fox decided it was easier to avert his gaze, his cheeks turning several different shades of pink.

Liza thought of retracting what she had just suggested but… what was that thing Gilbert was always reblogging on Tumblr? YOLO… _You obviously love owls?_ No, that didn’t sound quite right. _You only live once_  – oh yes, that one. Liza wasn’t normally one to throw caution to the wind, but if she’d wanted a boring life/career, she would have just stuck to Human Resources. Plus, she thought both men looked rather good together. Maybe she could even convince them to share a deliciously hot, _searing_ kiss, with tongues flicking and–

YOLO it was.

(Hopefully, she’d still be alive after this.)

“So gentlemen,” Liza said, this time with a cheerier tone in her voice and a noticeable gleam in her eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

A pause and then–

Mister Fox sighed. “Deal.”

Liza beamed brightly. “Oh, thank you so much! Don’t worry, I’m a professional and I’ll make sure you’ll only be doing poses you’re comfortable with. And–”

And she didn’t manage to finish what she’d wanted to say, because there was a sudden flash – a bright burst of greenish light (… _flames?_ ) and a swoop of talons and black feathers.

Liza felt the sting of a sharp beak at her arm, and she cried out in pain as she swung her arms about.

“Liza!”

“Miss Héderváry!”

Both men rushed to her side, just as her assailant – a huge black crow – flew upwards in a rush of feathers, the box now gripped tightly within its talons. It circled over them, screeching loudly before propelling itself forward with a great flap of its wings, leaving swirls of green flames in its wake.

“What in the blazes was that… that _thing_?” Liza stared after the creature, mouth agape in shock. She didn’t even protest when Herakles gently took her arm, giving it a quick glance-over to ensure she was not  badly injured.

A sword now in his hand, Mister Fox rushed forward, leaping after the fast-disappearing streak of green.  
  
“Herakles!” he called back over his shoulder. “Stay with Miss Héderváry; there could be more of them!”  
  
“Kiku, wait!” Herakles began, but the man was already out of earshot, weaving his way in between the crowd like liquid shadow.

Cursing under his breath, Herakles looked about him, sweeping his gaze over the rest of the café crowd, who were watching them with tentative and fearful expressions.  
  
“Liza, listen to me,” he said as he turned back to her. “I need to go help Kiku. So stay here where the crowd can see you and–”  
  
“And let myself miss out on all the action?” Liza cut in, snapping out of her initial shock. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, trying to hold back a curt reply. Herakles meant well, she knew, and she could sense his genuine concern.  But she was also so tired with men and their knee-jerk response of _Must Protect Fair Maidens From Big Scary Dangers!_

Unless they were up against a trigger-happy mob hell-bent on murdering the shit out of their sad lives, and then dumping their bullet-ridden bodies into the Thames, she was quite certain she’d be able to hold up her own….though, if that _was_ the case, she might have to reconsider her priorities. She didn’t like being called their _little princess_ , but she also didn’t want to break her parents’ poor old hearts.

But then again, who knew what they were going up against?

Liza wet her lips, hesitant. Then before she could change her mind, she reached hastily for her bag and slung the strap of her DSLR camera over her neck. Kicking the chairs lightly out of her way, she rushed towards the direction where Mister Fox had run off to.

“What– Liza, come back!” Giving the scared, ruffled patrons an apologetic nod, Herakles quickly pulled out several bills from his pocket and shoved them into the hands of the nearest waiter – “Keep the change!” – before scrambling away to catch up with Liza.

“Sorry guys,” Liza muttered under her breath as she raced down the road, past the crowds of giggling middle-schoolers and tottering old ladies. “But I’m not the girl who sits around, waiting for things to happen.”

No. No, she wasn’t.

Especially not when there was a good story she could be capturing all on film.

 

~.*.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The airport gifs that Gilbert had been spamming Liza's Tumblr dashboard with: [here](http://i1.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/000/254/126/8a5.gif) and [here](http://i3.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/254/339/b5a.gif)
> 
> These gifs refer to the [Google Mapcrunch meme](http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/sites/mapcrunch); it was a trend on Tumblr sometime in February/March (?) and yes, my dashboard was ridiculously full of it (and lolcrey, I still don’t get it >_>)
> 
> [YOLO](http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/yolo) – another internet meme thing which usually stands for You Only Live Once. But there’s also another version that says _[You Obviously Like/Love Owls](http://www.stuffistumbledupon.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/Yolo-Owls-You-Obviously-Like-Owls-Meme.gif)_ xD 
> 
> Aaaannd, do I really need to explain what [_Old Spice_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=owGykVbfgUE) is? (I'm pretty sure Romulus would make an awesome spokesperson for them lol)
> 
> The butterfly emblem on the box was inspired by the _Ageha-chō_ , the mon of the [Taira clan](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taira_clan).
> 
> Fun fact: [the song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1s6G0BMZ1g) I had playing on repeat when I was working on this scene, which might explain Liza’s thought-process here (sort of).
> 
> If you’re still following this, thank you for sticking around this long (we’re almost at the end!). I hope you enjoyed reading this act! ♥


	10. Act 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kiku faces off in a show-down with the ~~final boss~~ real culprit aka 'Mister Movie Villain'. Pikachu, I choose yo– oh wait, that’s the wrong series.

~.*.~

  
**_ix._ **

  
_February 14, 2kXX. 17:39 PM_

  
Kiku raced down the street, sending a whirl of withered leaves behind him as he slipped in between throngs of people on the side-walk:  teenaged-boys who had just ended baseball practice, trailed closely by two giggling school-girls in grey and red plaid uniforms; a young mother who was pushing a pram, while her son tottered along beside her; a corporate executive strolling with his eyes and fingers glued to his Smartphone, as his Softbank lanyard swung and jingled with the weight of office keys.

  
As he ran past the grey and white walls of an office block, he caught sight of a familiar figure several metres away, traipsing about at the other end of the street in a dark navy uniform – _Officer Jones_. Kiku shook his head. No, he could never get his friend involved in this, especially not when it would put Alfred’s reputation and job at stake. It was already bad enough that he’d allowed Herakles to accompany him on his mission.

  
Ducking in between the crowd and keeping his head low, Kiku slipped away before Alfred turned around and caught sight of him. He continued to race down the pavement, keeping his eye on the trail of flashing green fire and coal-black wings against the sky, as the crow flew on ahead of him, leading him further and further away from the heart of the city.

  
The crow let out another screech before hurtling itself forward with a great thrust from its wings. Kiku clenched his jaw, tightening his grip around his sword as he ran faster and harder, coming to an abrupt halt when he arrived at a bridge, the dark, murky water of the Thames rushing and gurgling noisily beneath it. He panted, trying to catch his breath, casting his gaze about.

  
For a wild, frantic moment, he thought he’d lost the creature’s trail. But then, a bell from a distant clock tower chimed, reverberating through the air, followed by a loud, deafening screech sounding from a place high above him. Kiku turned his gaze to rest on one of the bridge towers, spotting the swirl of green flames dancing upwards along it. Standing at the very top of the tower, he could just about make out the silhouette of a man. Without hesitation, he slung his sword over his back, and rushed towards the scaffolding erected around the tower to climb stealthily up the metal structure.

  
He was already midway up the tower when he heard voices coming from below him. Sparing a quick glance down at the street, he saw that Herakles and Liza had followed him.

  
“Kiku, wait!” Herakles called, attempting to climb up the metal scaffold after him. “Liza, you stay here, all right?”

  
Liza only clicked her tongue, a glint of excitement in her eyes as she aimed her camera at him to snap a photo, before pointing it upwards at Kiku, who was already nearing the top of the tower. “Don’t worry Big Guy, I won’t be going anywhere else. Not when I can get great shots from here and–”  
  
Whatever else Liza was about to say was lost to the sudden gust of wind that had picked up around the tower. It billowed fiercely around him as Kiku pushed onwards, up and over the last stretch of steel and metal piping (several metres below him, Herakles was still struggling to navigate himself across a particularly difficult mess of tubes and wires). Kiku vaulted nimbly over the wall from the scaffolding and reached the top, catching sight of a tall figure of a man hunched over at one end of the tower. He was possibly half a head taller than Herakles and of similar muscular build. His hair was carefully slicked into a bold, flashy Pompadour style; a ludicrous caricature of a movie villain.

  
“I have it, Kyou-san. Pesto managed to secure the item without much trouble.” As he straightened up, Kiku could see the man speaking into his mobile. The crow hovered over him, bright green flames crackling and swirling around its claws and wings in jagged streaks, much like lightning in a mist. Just as the man reached out to retrieve the box from the crow’s talons, Kiku made his move, charging forward at the man, his sword now unsheathed in one arm and the scabbard clenched in another.

  
With a quick flick of his arm, he flung the scabbard at both bird and man, hitting the box free from the crow’s talons. The crow shrieked, swishing its wings as the man swore loudly, trying to catch the box, to no avail. Rolling over the side of the wall, the box pummeled downwards, bouncing off the metal poles only to hit Herakles over the shoulder.

  
Herakles grunted in pain at the sudden impact, almost losing his footing. By some miraculous luck however, he managed to grab the box with one hand, while clinging stubbornly to the metal pipes with his other arm. The man cursed again, and was about to make his way towards the side of the tower only to have Kiku block his path.

  
“Were you sent by Monsieur Lafayette?” Kiku asked.

  
The man froze in his tracks, eyes narrowed into hostile slits and jaw set into a tight line of defiance. Kiku figured the man wouldn’t readily offer a reply, not that he’d expected him to. But years of social graces ingrained in him since as a child continue to prompt such politeness from him, even though it seemed inevitable that he would have to fight this man if he wanted any information. He raised his sword, pointing it at the man, readily himself in an offensive stance.

  
“Please withdraw,” the man spoke abruptly, his voice low and gravelly. “I have no personal quarrel with you, Honda-san and I doubt that your father would have wanted it to end this way either.”

  
Kiku’s head snapped up, eyes widening slightly even as he struggled to mask his surprise at the use of the name and of his father.

  
“How did you…?” The words slipped from him carelessly; he faltered, biting back the rest of the question, a chill running down his spine.

  
“This is also not a fight you can win. So please, put away your sword and withdraw.” The man dipped his head in an awkward, almost regretful sort of bow.

  
Kiku blinked, disquiet in his eyes as he considered those words carefully. He lifted his sword once more, tightening his grip around the hilt. “I understand that you’re only carrying out your orders, but I’m afraid I will have to persist.”

  
And he lunged forward, making the first move to attack. Swinging his blade, he slashed at the man’s right flank. The man was quick to side-step, dodging the blow, only to have Kiku lunge at him again – this time, from the left. Kiku struck out at the man again, but despite his bulkier appearance, his opponent was just nimble, raising his arm to easily deflect the blow. There was a sharp clash of metal against metal before both men pulled back.

  
Kiku frowned, sword still held before him in a defensive stance. He let his gaze flicker over the man who now wielded a weapon in each hand – twin _kodachi_ -like daggers, encircled with the same bright-green flames which the crow possessed.

  
“ _Elettro Daga!_ ” the man yelled out as he raised both daggers. “Honda-san, once again I will ask you to withdraw.”

  
“And again I apologise, but I will have to decline the request.”

  
A pause, and then another resigned sigh. “Very well, then.”

  
The two circled each other slowly and silently, their gazes still locked on each other and–

  
With a flurry of movements, the man rushed at Kiku, swinging both daggers in two cutting motions as he let out a loud cry: “ _Sciopero di Fulmine Celeste!_ ”

  
Kiku parried the first blow easily, pivoting swiftly to avoid the second strike before twirling around and drawing his blade back to cut at the man’s left side–

  
–only to hear a loud screech as a dark shadow fell over him; a flash of black feathers and hooked talons, a beak tearing into skin–

  
Gasping sharply in pain, Kiku stumbled, a searing heat burning at his left shoulder. He had not taken his eyes off both the man and crow, but he knew that his wound had re-opened; he could already feel the blood seeping through the bandages.

  
He continued to watch as the other man began to move, circling slowly around him, daggers now held in a reverse grip. A moment’s respite and then, Kiku lunged forward once again, swinging his sword in a wide arc. The man avoided the slash at the very last second, spinning around to drive his daggers in swift downward strikes – the first one ripping through fabric and grazing over flesh.

  
Kiku flinched when he felt the sting at his left cheek and again at his injured shoulder. But he didn’t stop, dodging the second strike, before he spun on his heels again and lunging forward in a sudden burst of speed, dealt a hard blow to the side of the man’s ribs with the flat of his sword. A sharp _crack_ and the man grunted in shock, coughing and hacking painfully. The crow screeched furiously, diving forward to place itself before its master.

  
“Kyou-san was right about you,” the man chuckled, spitting blood as he wiped a hand over his jaw. “If I did not have these boxes, I might not be able to defeat you.”

  
Before Kiku could ask what he’d meant, the man reached into his jacket to pull out a small silver and green box. A green flame crackled to life from the single ring he wore over his right index finger. As he punched the flame into the box, the lid popped open, releasing a bright burst of flames and what looked to be another bird-like creature. A huge, brown falcon now joined the crow to hover before him, wings slicing through the air like knives.

  
“Pesto, Zitoni. _Danza Spirale di Morte!_ ”

  
Kiku never got the chance to ponder further about the oddity of the flames and creatures. Or why his opponent seemed to have a knack for yelling out battle cries ( _in Italian too, even though the man was clearly Japanese_ ) at the top of his lungs before attacking, as if they were pawns in a bizarre virtual game… well, _almost_.

  
The creatures were all over him in a blinding flash; diving at him with their beaks and talons, a fiery whirlwind of agony as they clawed viciously at him. Dodging and striking with his sword as deftly as he could, he tried to fend them off, but they were too fast. Even as he fought against one of them, cutting and slashing with his sword, the second creature would swoop in to snap at him from behind or from the side.

  
Not far below, Herakles continued his climb up the scaffolding. He could hear the sounds of the fight; the bone-chilling shrieks of the birds and the periodic flash of eerie green flames. Beads of sweat trailed down his jaw, his arms already twitching from the effort of the climb. But he pushed on stubbornly, until he was finally close enough to haul himself from the scaffolding and over the wall to the top of the tower.

  
A bright flash of green illuminated the far end of the tower. Jerking his head towards the source of the light, Herakles saw a falcon darting out from a small box held in the hands of a tall, burly man wearing the most flamboyant hairstyle he’d ever seen ( _one which his father would probably approve of, no doubt_ ).

  
Another sharp screech pierced the air, followed by what was, unmistakably, Kiku’s cry of pain.

  
Despite his fatigue from the strenuous climb, Herakles straightened up and sprinted towards the fight. A tiny part of him was quite certain that was the last thing Kiku would have wanted him to do – he _did_ promise not to run blindly into a fighting mob again. But then again, this was neither a mob, nor was he running recklessly into it. And he really couldn’t bring himself to stand idly by and watch as the birds continued their vicious attack…

  
Herakles tripped over what seemed to be broken metal tubes and pieces from the scaffolding – leftovers probably, from previous reconstruction works – and stumbled to his knees, dropping the wooden box he’d been clutching onto.

  
The wooden box fell with a loud clutter, the metal clasp snapping open upon contact with the hard ground and drawing the attention of the crow. The creature let out angry caw and lurched towards him, the flames around its claws and wings crackling with greater intensity.

  
“Herakles, stay back!” Kiku tried to rush forward to stop the crow from attacking, only to clench his teeth against the pain when the falcon ripped into his shoulder. He slashed at his tormentor with his sword, yet again to no avail as the bird merely flew out of reach.

  
Herakles felt the adrenaline rushing in his vein, his heart thumping in nervous anticipation as the crow steadily approached him, flames flickering menacingly. He cast his gaze around frantically, searching for any makeshift weapon to fight the creature with. Just as he was about to reach for one of the broken pipes, his eyes fell on the wooden box again, its contents now strewn out before him on the ground.

  
The stuffed cat lay on its back, still wearing its creepy smile ( _almost as if it were grinning at his current predicament and surely at his impending doom_ ). But right beside the toy were other things he hadn’t noticed before: two smaller square boxes – one orange and one blue, both framed with black and silver – similar in construction with the one the burly man had been holding.

  
As Herakles crouched to grab the nearest box, his shoe crunched lightly against another object, and lifting his foot, he caught sight of two other things on the ground – silver rings. Desperation and instinct drove him to reach for one of the rings, and just as the crow dived at him, lashing out with its deadly beak and claws, Herakles punched the ring to the box.

  
_Please, let it work._

  
For several excruciating seconds, nothing happened. Herakles felt his heart sink in dismay, steeling himself for the onslaught of the crow’s attack, when the box abruptly opened, releasing a bright burst of orange before him. Engulfed by the sudden upward surge of flames, the crow let out a furious shriek, before it began to burn, feathers slowly disintegrating into ashes amidst the dying crackle of its own green flames.

  
“Pesto, return!” At the command, the crow shrank away from the next wave of orange flames, slowly dissipating into nothingness as it retreated back into its box. In that single moment of distraction, Herakles saw his chance and took it, grabbing the remaining items on the ground.

  
“Kiku, here!” He ran towards the two men, tossing the second box and ring to Kiku, who had already anticipated the move. Ignoring the burning pain of his injuries, Kiku darted away from the falcon, reaching out to catch the box and ring. The falcon lashed out at him once more in a flurry of feathers, but not before he whirled around to face the creature again.

  
As he punched the ring to the box, sky-blue flames sprung to life, surging forth from the box in a massive tidal wave. Unlike Herakles’ box, which had only released bursts of wildfire, the blue flames gradually took the form of a creature – a snow-white fox with amber eyes, its tail split in nine.

  
The fox let out a sharp yip, leaping into the air to meet the falcon’s dive, its nine tails fanning out like a shield before Kiku, nullifying the attack with its blue flames. Then, flicking its tails in one swift movement, the fox sent a wave of blue fire crashing over the bird. With a defeated squawk, the falcon fled, feathers burning just as the crow’s did, disappearing back into its box.

  
The man swore angrily, holding up his daggers once more as he readied himself for an attack, but Kiku was quicker. Like a whirlwind stirred back to life, he lunged at the man, knocking both daggers out of his opponent’s hands, before pivoting on his heels and ramming the pommel of his sword into the man’s chest. Hacking painfully at the force, the man staggered backwards.

  
“It’s over,” Kiku said grimly, lowering his sword and turning to face the fallen man–

  
( _A sudden chill creeping down his spine, cold fear wringing around his heart._

  
_A flashback… a dream?_ )

  
–only to stare into the menacing, black barrel of a Glock 18 pointed straight at him.

  
_Shit._

  
He froze, cursing inwardly at himself for letting his guard down and assuming the man had carried no other weapon beside the daggers and the boxes. Before either man could move, there was a sudden blur of grey and blue and Herakles rushed at the man, knocking him away from Kiku just as he fired a few shots. Bullets zinged past, ricocheting off the sides of the wall with a sharp _ping_.

  
The man lashed out with his arms, trying to break free but Herakles didn’t loosen his grip, swinging his free hand into the other’s face, smashing him against the wall. The man fired another shot, missed again as Herakles threw a second punch at him, throwing him off-balance over the wall. The man fell, but not before he grabbed Herakles’ sleeve, dragging him off the tower and plunging straight into the dark, murky water of the Thames.

  
“ _Herakles!_ ” Kiku yelled, rushing towards the edge. He swept his gaze over the surface of the water, searching for any sign of the two men, before he scaled over the wall. Pausing only to judge the distance, he leapt off the edge, diving head-first into the river.

  
Silence lingered heavily in the air in the temporary lull, save for the sounds of water lapping against the sides of the bridge.

  
A single arm finally shot up from the water, before Kiku finally broke through the surface, coughing and gasping for air, his right arm curled tightly around Herakles’ unconscious form. He struggled to keep his grip tight around Herakles and after nearly fifteen minutes of struggling through the river, he managed to reach the riverbank where Liza was standing and watching them anxiously.

  
Kiku crawled out of the water, Herakles’ arm slung over his shoulders. Liza rushed over to their side, and together with her help, they dragged Herakles back onto shore, laying him flat on his back.

  
“I don’t think he’s…” Liza ran a shaky hand over Herakles’ face, voice trembling slightly as she paled. “He’s not breathing–”

  
Fear began to gnaw at him as Kiku bent over Herakles’ cold, limp form, running his hands up and down the unconscious man’s sides, before bringing his fingers to gently press against his neck, searching for a pulse. He pressed his ear to Herakles’ chest; searching, listening for a heartbeat, a breath… _anything_. He placed his hands together and pushed, compressing the chest.

  
Paused. Listened again.

  
Nothing.

  
Kiku hesitated, panic coiling within his guts now, his mind clouding with distress.

  
“Forgive my intrusion,” he whispered as he tilted Herakles’ head back, his face only inches away now. Realising what he was doing only as he did it, he pressed their lips together, fingers pinching the nose shut. He breathed into Herakles’ mouth once; released and listened again. Breathed into it a second time, pushing air into his lungs again, silently willing him to _breathe, please…_  
  
  
Herakles gasped then, coughing up water, squirming weakly in his hold. Kiku felt a rush of relief, bringing his fingers to check the other man’s pulse. He couldn’t feel any yet and Herakles did not seem completely conscious or breathing well. So he lowered his lips to Herakles’ once more, breathing into his mouth… only to realise after several minutes that not only could he feel Herakles finally moving beneath him, but he could also feel a hand at the back of his head, fingers carding gently through his hair.

  
And that Herakles seemed to be kissing him, tongue flicking slowly over his lips and–

  
“ _Ow_ ,” Herakles gave a soft yelp of surprise just as Kiku jerked away stiffly, the two finally breaking apart. “Did you just pinch my nippl–”

  
“I… I’m glad you’re all right, Mister Karpusi.” Kiku said, rubbing the back of his hand over his lips in an awkward, near-mechanical manner, feeling his face grow warm as his cheeks coloured slightly.

  
Herakles chuckled, slowly sitting himself up. “Sadiq likes to call me the ‘stubborn mule’ who refuses to do him a favour by falling off a cliff and smashing my head into pulp at the bottom. Maybe the bastard’s right sometimes… uh, about the stubbornness, I mean. Not the mule.”

  
Kiku could only smile wanely at that, before turning his gaze back to scan the river once more.

  
“Do you think he’s…?” Herakles began.

  
“I’m not certain, but as I was unable to find any sign of him, we’ll have to assume he found a way to escape somehow.” Kiku frowned, pulling out the small blue box from his now-drenched coat.  “And I think Yao will have a lot of explaining to do, starting with these.”

  
Just as he was about to place the box away, he heard what sounded like a soft _click_ , and was momentarily, blinded by a bright flash.

  
“ _‘The kiss of life: forbidden love unearthed in the unlikeliest of places.’_ ” Liza murmured excitedly as she snapped several more photos of both Herakles and Kiku, who could only stare back at her, nonplussed. “You two do look good together in a shot. I’m really looking forward to the photoshoot, to say the least.”

  
Kiku blinked, lips parted mid-way as if he was on the verge of voicing his thoughts. Allowing himself a soft laugh instead, he flopped back to lie against the grass, wincing as the dull throbbing of his injuries and fatigue finally caught up with him.

  
“Are you all right? We should get you to a doctor, you’re still bleeding.” Herakles was leaning over him now, concern pooling within those green eyes ( _almost like the sea, flecks of blue and hazel visible in the sunlight… a-ah, he was being immodest again wasn’t he, staring away like that–_ )  
  
“No, I’m fine,” came Kiku’s soft, tired reply. “It’s just been a really long day. But thank you Mister Karpusi, and to you as well, Miss Héderváry, for everything.”

  
There were still questions swirling in his mind – _the strange flames and creatures, the boxes… how did the man know his name, his father?_   – more so than when he’d first begun his mission.  
  
But for now, the chase was over and he could rest a little, exhaustion steadily wearing him down as his vision began to grow dim and hazy.

  
“Kiku? Kiku!”

  
He would search for the answers another day.

~.*.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Glock is a series of semi-automatic pistols. From what I've read, a Glock 18 pistol is not for sale to civilians, and is only available for use to the law enforcement, the military.... and well, used illegally by organised crime syndicates, I suppose :/
> 
> 'Mister Movie Villain' is [Kusakabe Tetsuya](http://reborn.wikia.com/wiki/Tetsuya_Kusakabe), from [_Katekyo Hitman Reborn!_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reborn%21) (guess who's a COMPLETE geek for that series?!). And yes, that was Hibari he was talking to on the mobile :P
> 
> The "strange" boxes and animals with flames are [Box Weapons](http://reborn.wikia.com/wiki/Box_Weapons), specialised boxes that are build to carry weaponry, which comes mostly in form of armaments, although many are fashioned after animals. The flames serve as a direct power source and each Box Weapon Animal possesses its own unique abilities.
> 
> Kiku's Box Weapon animal is a [kitsune](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kitsune) (fox-spirit). In Japanese mythology, it is said that the more tails the kitsune has, the wiser and more powerful it becomes. When it gains its ninth tail, the kitsune's fur changes to gold or white.
> 
> Kusakabe's battle cries are directly translated from English to Italian for the lulz:  
>  _Elettro Daga_ \- Electro Daggers  
>  _Sciopero di Fulmine Celeste_ \- Divine Lightning Strike  
>  _Danza Spirale di Morte_ \- Spiral Dance of Death
> 
> It amuses me greatly whenever characters in Shounen Jump series always start a fight with a ferocious battle-cry, and helpfully announce their secret moves before attacking. Shounen wouldn't be shounen otherwise, amirite? Lol.
> 
> The fight scenes were inspired mostly by [this theme.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l8m990RzPn0)
> 
> *
> 
> So this scene turned out much longer than I initially planned it to be ~~and threw some logic out the window at the same time~~ ^^; If you've been following this story since March, thank you for following through with this chase ♥ I have one final scene (the epilogue) to wrap up this story and to tie up some loose ends, which should be up later this week.


	11. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which loose ends are tied and Herakles bids farewell.

~.*.~  
  
 ** _-epilogue-_**

  
_March 14, 2kXX. 19:27 PM_

  
Herakles stood on the rooftop of his office building, chewing on a cigarette as he carefully leafed through the glossy pages of a magazine. When he finally got to Elizabeta's fashion spread midway through the magazine, he paused, tracing a finger over the title – _Lover, Beloved_ – printed in elegant white text over a sleek, black background. Displayed over six whole pages were black-and-white photos featuring two men in a number of poses.

  
His finger came to a halt at one of the photos. In it was Herakles himself, seated languidly on the floor and shirtless, his arms laced with lengths of silk ribbons which trailed across the ground and up the pale legs and thighs of a slender-build man standing beside him, his nude back facing the camera. Herakles couldn't help but smile appreciatively at Kiku's form, letting his gaze trail from those lean shoulders and down the curve of Kiku's spine, studying the definition in his muscles and the traces of faded scars.

  
They'd managed to come to a compromise for the photo shoot: Kiku agreed to let Elizabeta decide on their poses, while she promised not to take any up-close and direct shots of his face, so that he could preserve his identity from the public (and no doubt, his modesty). Elizabeta had even edited Kiku's butterfly tattoo off his shoulder from the photos and had placed a false chrysanthemum mark on the back of his left thigh instead.

  
Another photo just below first caught Herakles' gaze; in this shot, Herakles was lying on the floor as Kiku leaned over him, wearing a blindfold over his eyes, their faces so close together that their lips were brushing.

  
" _'If my kiss offends you…'_ " Herakles recited aloud the quote inked below the photo.

  
" _'… then punish me with yours.'_ "

  
At the sound of the familiar voice and of footsteps approaching from behind him, Herakles' smile grew wider. Soon enough, Kiku came in line of his vision as he stood beside him, looking out at the bustling city walkways far below them. Herakles offered the cigarette to the other man, and after only a moment's hesitation, Kiku accepted it and took a slow drag.

  
"You know," Herakles began, resting his chin lazily against his right hand, arm propped against the railing. "For all your propriety and your reticence, I have to say you're a fairly good kisser."

  
Kiku blushed slightly, but Herakles could see the smallest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of the other man's lips ( _he couldn't help but think then, that Kiku might be… interesting in bed, to say the least_ ).

  
"Are you always such a tease, Mister Karpusi?" Kiku asked as he met his gaze steadily, releasing a tiny stream of smoke with each breath.

  
"More so with you, I think." Herakles replied without missing a beat, green eyes aglow with mirth.

  
Kiku could only chuckle softly at that, turning to gaze back at the streets below. The lights had blinked out slowly, one by one, as offices and shops ended their businesses for the day. The workers finally began to make their way home for the night; the steady crawl of executives in their dark suits a stark contrast in between the crowds of casually-dressed youths who were, no doubt, heading out for a night of drinking and partying.

  
A faint sound arose from a room several floors below, filling the lull in their conversation with the soft thrum music, of violins and cellos woven together in song. They listened, sharing the cigarette between them, smoke and ash lingering in the air against the medley of melodies and unspoken thoughts.

  
"The heirloom doesn't actually belong to Yao," Kiku began slowly. "In fact, it's not even his family's 'heirloom.' He had only been keeping it safe until he could hand it over to the rightful owner in due time. That was the last promise he had made to my father."

  
"So the stuffed cat belongs to your father?" Herakles asked, frowning in disbelief.

  
Kiku shook his head, nose crinkling in amusement. "No, the toy is Yao's and it was meant to be a decoy."

  
Reaching into his coat, he drew out a familiar blue box. "The boxes and rings are my father's. Apparently he'd managed to procure these items during one of his trips to Italy. He had meant to pass them on to me someday."

  
"But he never told you about these boxes before?"

  
"No, Yao said my father had wanted to wait till I was much older. Because he knew there were others who would be interested in such boxes, he'd requested for Yao's help to keep it hidden."

  
He paused, watching as the smoke from the cigarette rose into the air in a long thin wisp, only to be scattered into nothingness by a sudden breeze.

  
"They had not killed him out of envy alone," Kiku went on, this time in a softer voice. "Rumours of these new weapons soon spread after his return from Italy. And even though my father took great care not to speak of the boxes or the rings – except to my mother and his closest of friends – it seems he was eventually betrayed by one of his own men. Yao wanted to protect me, so he'd refused to tell me the truth… at least, up till now."

  
"I see," Herakles said. "What will you do now, with the boxes and the rings?"

  
"I'm not sure. I have yet to find any more substantial information about that strange man we fought, only that he goes by the name 'Kusakabe' and that he was last seen in Milan before his arrival here in Londinium."

  
"Is that where you would be heading to next?"

  
"Possibly." Kiku stubbed the cigarette against the top of the railing, putting it out completely, and then turning to face Herakles once more, dipped his head into a polite bow.

  
"I never had the chance to thank you properly, for all the things that you helped me with that day. I owe you my life, Mister Karpusi."

  
"You saved mine _twice_." Herakles pointed out. "It was only right that I got a doctor to see to your injuries."

  
Kiku's lips quirked at that. "Most people would have also sent me to the authorities after all that."

  
"My mother taught me to always return favours, regardless of who gave them." Herakles said, grinning. "And I'm glad to have met you, even if the circumstances were… well, it was quite unusual."

  
"As am I."

  
"Will I get to see you again?"

  
"... Perhaps. When time permits."

  
"I look forward to it then."

  
The moon rose higher into the velvety night sky, bobbing in and out of the clouds, casting a faint glow over the cityscape below it. Several blocks away, standing by the intersection, the neon lights of a digital clock glowed. In a few more hours or so, Herakles would have to head back inside and try to get some work done before turning in for the night. It was going to be a busy morning tomorrow; he would have to juggle his time overseeing the preparations for the next delivery to the East, before rushing to attend a business proposal in his father's stead.

  
( _He made a mental note to remind his father to not get so wasted on alcohol and women that he couldn't even remember how he'd landed in a hotel room, five hours out of Londinium, with lipstick stains and hickies all over his neck and chest, but with absolutely no money or phone. They'd left his clothes though, at least_.)

  
He glanced over to his side where Kiku had been standing earlier; there was a small plastic package placed neatly on the side of the wall, filled with white chocolate pieces covered in elegant swirls of pink and brown drizzles. It was tied simply with a blue ribbon, with a hand-written note attached to the front.

  
_Until next we meet_.

  
Herakles smiled quietly to himself.  
  
  
 ** _-End-_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have loved to make sketches of all the poses Elizabeta came up with for these two, lol. But alas, I am no artist, and can only imagine that one of the poses would look similar to this [Giripan fanart](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lxsemgk4jb1r5h2b4o1_1280.jpg).
> 
> _“If my kiss offends you, then punish me with yours.”_ A quote by Straton of Sardis, a Greek poet and anthologist living in the time of the Roman Emperor Hadrian.
> 
> [The song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vUUGtv9WqyA) I had playing as I was writing out the epilogue.I think the first half of the song (up to 1:41) would be a perfect ending song to close up the scene ~~sometimes I like to imagine my stories as an anime in itself ^^;~~
> 
> Annnnd with that, I’m finally done with this story! I apologise for the lack of any actual Giripan smut in this, especially after all the awkward UST... but it just somehow didn’t feel right to throw it in like that? I might be able to write separate piece for the smut though (like an omake of sorts) ~~no one will say no to more Giripan porn, y/y?~~
> 
> **EDIT:** You can now read the omake smut here!: [Black Holes and Revelations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/491365) c:
> 
> Also also: [commissioned art](http://salaryman-san.tumblr.com/post/47168469977/commisioned-art-for-my-fic-by-the-awesome) for this AU by my lovely friend, Schnitzel. 
> 
> *
> 
> Here's a shout-out to the anons on the kinkmeme who has been following this story since March '12: THANK YOU for all the lovely comments you've left on my fill, especially that one anon who never failed to comment on every one of my updates. They really mean a lot to me ♥ I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this as much as I’ve loved writing it all! ♥


End file.
